The Bond Between Brothers
by AzureSkye23
Summary: When Gandalf reveals just a little too much to Saruman before Saruman reveals his betrayal, it seems hope is lost when Saruman claims the Ring for himself. Yet despite his defeat at Saruman's hands, Sauron manages to rescue Gandalf, proving the bond between the brothers is still strong, despite everything that lies between them. But will it be enough to save Middle-earth?
1. The Bond Between Brothers

**This is a story almost five years in the making. I originally wrote it as a series of one-shots, just writing the bits of story that came to me when they came. But about three years ago, I decided to try to knock it into shape, and put it all together as one story. This is the part where I have to thank my friend Crackers, who read over it several times and helped me get the basic structure into a decent shape. (I did not, however, ask her to beta read it, so any misplaced modifiers or awkward verbiage remains solely my own.)**

 **This story is more than just the one-shots I originally wrote, however; it contains a fair amount of new material, as well as bonus shorts at the end, little pieces that didn't really fit in the main story, but I hope you'll enjoy anyway. I hope that even if you have read the original series of one-shots, you'll still take the time to review this story. Reviews feed the muse, after all.**

* * *

Sauron screamed in agony as his soul was captured, twisted, violently forced to submit to the one who wore his Ring now. It let up briefly, and he found himself on hands and knees, panting harshly. It reminded him of the form he once had taken often, that of the wolf. He had roamed the northern wilderness then, with the illusion of freedom. He'd been nothing but a slave in truth, but a feared and respected slave, the deadly lieutenant of Morgoth.

Now though, he could not escape the realization of his folly. He'd escaped that life, only to re-enslave himself half an Age later. And now he was paying for that rare bit of stupidity. How had he failed to see when he had made the Ring the inherent weakness, the danger? He'd never even considered the fact the Ring could be taken from him, or that another would use the part of his power and soul bound in it to subjugate the rest to the Wielder's every whim.

He raised anguished golden eyes to the band of gold that held him enthralled, and raised a trembling hand towards it, in longing or beseeching he didn't know.

And screamed again, in hopeless desperation, as the violation of his mind and soul continued without mercy.

* * *

"Go Aragorn," Halbarad said in a voice that brooked no opposition. "There are too many of them."

"What other option do we have?" Aragorn demanded. "We cannot simply let them invade Eriador!"

"No, we cannot," Halbarad said, strangely calm. "But neither can we risk the life of the last remaining Heir of Isildur in this fight." Aragorn stared at him in disbelief. But before he could retort, Anóriel joined them, covered in blood.

"We are surrounded," she said calmly. "But I've gathered together some of the best—they'll protect you as you cut your way out, Aragorn. Make for Rivendell."

"You cannot ask me to leave," Aragorn said horsely.

"You are the Hope of the Dúnedain, Aragorn," Anóriel said. "You must survive for them to ever rise from obscurity."

"There are too many of them," Aragorn said with quiet knowledge born of foresight. "You will not survive." An sorrowful flash in her immortal eyes told him that she knew that as well.

"Aurë entuluva," she quoted the last cry of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears softly.

"Day will come again, Aragorn," Halbarad echoed her, just as softly. "Even if we are not here to see it. And that is why you must go. Bring down this Darkness, and make our sacrifices worth it." He smiled softly.

"I have been more privileged than I ever dreamed to be able to follow you, my cousin…and my King. May the blessings of the Valar always follow you." His smile faded. "Now go, before it is too late!" Aragorn bowed his head, finally accepting the inevitable as he and his guards began to cut their way back towards the North, hearing as he went the voices of too many of his dear friends rise in the desperate cry: Aurë entuluva!

By the time Aragorn and his depleted guards arrived in Rivendell, Aragorn was unconscious from the wounds he had received. Four more of those who had fought beside him would die of complications despite the Elven care they received. Without Vilya, Elrond was limited to more basic means of healing, though he still had the ability to seek another's fëa. But when he reached out to that of his foster-son, all he could find was that ancient battle-cry, echoing in twisted, despairing paths.

* * *

The overwhelming agony stopped when the invading mind had moved completely through him, and the feeling of unclean fingers touching the innermost part of his soul faded. Sauron found himself curled on the ground, screams fading to helpless whimpers.

"So broken," Saruman's honeyed voice cut through the lingering confusion and pain. Hands gently pulled him out of his protective curl, leaving him on his back as they traced the crests of his hipbones and the lines of his lower ribs before moving to caress his face and neck. He nuzzled into them, touch-starved and desperate for any sort of comfort; loving and hating the touch of the small golden band that had betrayed him. Saruman laughed.

"You sold your soul searching for love, and never found it," he mused. "Enslaved first by Melkor, then by your own creation…It is as if there is part of you that wants to be a slave. Why else would the Ring act as it does? You are willing to be controlled by anyone strong enough to force you to their will." Saruman smiled at the resigned vulnerability in the younger Maia's eyes which made him look almost innocent.

"What is even more interesting is you know that," he continued. "You've always known that. It is simply a part of you. All you've ever asked in return is to be loved, and that is the one thing you have always been denied." He paused in thought, hands absently tracing the scars on Sauron's neck, making him shiver.

"I wonder what would happen if I gave you that, my little wolf," Saruman whispered pensively, making Sauron jump at the endearment that Melkor had always used for him. Saruman laughed.

"Oh yes, little wolf, you are mine now," he assured the younger Maia who was now watching him with terror in his eyes. "And Melkor's dear-name for you is very fitting." He deliberately ran his fingers down the scars marring Sauron's neck, making him whimper.

"Touch has only meant pain for you, for so long," Saruman whispered, pulling the other Maia into his arms. "I can teach you otherwise." Sauron cried out and wrenched away as Saruman stroked his thigh, the first resistance he offered the Maia who held part of his soul on his finger. Saruman chuckled.

"You're scared, for physical innocence is all you have left," he told the now squirming Maia in his arms. "I don't have the time now to teach you there is nothing to fear. But don't worry, my little wolf, when I rule the world I will return for you." He released Sauron, who scrambled a few feet away. Saruman reached out and stroked his face again.

"When I rule all, I will take you, and you will enjoy it," he promised. "I will give you the affection you've always been searching for, and you will be mine, body and soul." Sauron whimpered again, as Saruman used the Ring to mentally caress him. Saruman smiled and stood, leaving Sauron huddled on the floor.

"Until I rule all, my little wolf," he whispered as he left.

* * *

Gandalf stood on the pinnacle of Orthanc, and wept. Below him, the ground was unrecognizable, even from what it had been when he had first been placed here. It was covered now in deep choking fires from the deep forges that Saruman had delved into the plain. The torture of the earth was obvious. But that was not why the Istar wept.

Saruman had the Ring. And what that could mean for his dear friends…he didn't even want to contemplate.

He had removed Narya when Saruman had first put on the Ring, and he hoped that Elrond and Galadriel had been able to do the same with Vilya and Nenya. With them removed, it would take time for Saruman to be able to enslave them–time which he now had, Gandalf knew. The fallen wizard had just returned from the East, from a great victory. Barely able to admit it to himself, Gandalf wondered if he mourned his brother as well. While he had accepted this assignment to see his overthrow, Gandalf still felt slightly sick inside when he wondered what cruel fate Saruman would have given his defeated foe.

But none of that mattered. He had failed: failed his Lord and mission, failed his friends, failed Middle-earth, failed his brother… Gandalf paused. Yes, he had failed his brother. What Sauron was now merely a mockery of all his brother had been, and his destruction would have been a mercy in his older brother's eyes. But he was still here, part of him bound in that thrice-cursed Ring.

Gandalf knew that his own torment and destruction would be near at hand: had not Saruman promised as much? A fitting reward for the insolence of Gandalf the Grey? But he could not find it in him to care, not when everything he had fought and cared about had suddenly been laid to waste.

Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice the rush of wings, until burning hands grabbed him, lifting him onto the back of a creature that looked like it had been spawned in the pits of Utumno. Gandalf froze, but did not resist as hands reached around him to grab reigns, frantically slapping the creature to get it airborne.

Saruman realized that his prisoner had escaped, but the creature was fast, and his response too late. Gandalf stayed quiet, and hands he still knew well, even after the Ages, guided the creature to the north-east. They skirted the edges of the Hithaeglir, eventually stopping at a small cave. The opening was barely large enough for the creature to fit, and inside, all was black: though Gandalf got the sense it was bigger than one would suspect.

Gandalf felt the one behind him dismount, an absence of heat more than anything. He too, slipped to the ground.

"The cave splits," a well-known voice said. "Take the one to the left: it has a bit of a draught in it, so I can light a fire without worrying about killing us both."

Gandalf did as the voice said, feeling the creature take the other fork. His rescuer followed him, and Gandalf could hear him rustling around, searching for something.

"I thought you had been destroyed," Gandalf said in a flat tone.

"What is the use of defeating and humiliating someone without them still able to understand their loss?" The weary, bitter pain in that statement almost made Gandalf flinch, and again wonder what Saruman had done.

"Why did you rescue me?" Gandalf asked, to cover his emotion. A snort met that query, and its owner seemed to finally find what he was looking for, as small sparks began to appear.

"I would not leave my worst enemy to Saruman…well, maybe Gothmog. Those two would deserve each other. But certainly not you." Gandalf squeezed his eyes shut as the fire finally caught.

"You are telling me, that you risked the wrath of the one who could completely destroy you, to rescue me…because we are brothers?" He opened his eyes again, meeting the golden ones which reflected the light of the new-caught flames.

"Yes," Sauron said simply.


	2. Arrival in Rivendell

"I suppose I should have expected that you never would have guessed that I would try to rescue you," Sauron said softly.

"What makes you say that?" Gandalf snapped.

"Well, you don't really seem to care that we are brothers," Sauron shot back.

"What in Eä makes you think that, Mairon?" Gandalf said angrily. "You have no idea how much pain that fact has caused me, especially on these shores."

"And yet, you are on these shores," Sauron replied icily. "You chose to come to try to engineer my utter defeat." Gandalf paused at that.

"Mairon, I am only here because Lord Manwë asked me to come," the Wizard said softly. "And I was scared."

"Scared?" Sauron echoed, his face torn between anger and sadness. "Did you really think I would hurt you?"

"I didn't know," Gandalf said simply. "But I wasn't scared of you…I was scared of myself." Sauron looked confused.

"I was scared that if when it came down to it, I couldn't do it," Gandalf continued softly. "I was afraid that at some critical moment, I would falter…Because I do still care about you, Mairon."

"Oh," Sauron said softly. "Thank you." Gandalf snorted.

"That's hardly something to thank me over, little brother. But I need to thank you—I wasn't really looking forward to what Saruman decided was a fitting reward for my insolence."

"You would be insolent," Sauron commented.

"Runs in the family," Gandalf shot back, then sighed. "We need to get to Rivendell." "Olórin, simply because I rescued you, it doesn't mean I'm going to be welcomed into Rivendell with open arms. In fact, Galadriel will probably just kill me–and frankly, it probably won't even be very hard for her to do so–and I really don't want to do that again. Dying twice was quite enough for me."

Of course his little brother would be snarky, even in this situation, Gandalf thought, despairing slightly. He tried a different track.

"Mairon, we need you," he said softly. "We never even believed Saruman could betray us as he has. You are probably the only one who can figure out how to stop him." Sauron turned his face away.

"There is no way," he said softly, defeated. Gandalf just stared in shock.

"You're giving up?" he asked incredulously. "Not even after Númenor did you quit. Why now?" Sauron didn't answer, simply wrapping his arms around himself. Understanding dawned across Gandalf's face, and he gently placed a hand on Sauron's shoulder.

"Mairon, what did he do to you?" he asked softly, painfully. Sauron still said nothing, but turned and buried his face in Gandalf's shoulder, his own shaking as he tearlessly cried. Gandalf said nothing, and simply held him tightly. Finally, with a shuddering sigh, Sauron stilled, raising a dry face and resting it sideways on his brother's shoulder, closing his eyes tiredly.

"You can't even cry anymore?" Gandalf murmured sorrowfully. Sauron gave a breathy huff that would have been a laugh if he had more energy.

"I haven't been able to cry since the middle of the First Age," he said, no emotion except exhaustion in his voice. Gandalf sighed.

"Mairon, you can't go on like this!" he exclaimed. "We are going to Rivendell, and then we'll figure out how to defeat Saruman, and then…"

"And then what?" Sauron said softly. "Return to Valinor? Have the Valar put me on trial and then throw me to the Void?" Gandalf tightened his hold on his brother.

"No, I don't want that," he murmured. "But I am not letting Saruman get away with what he has done, what he has done to you…"

"Why, Olórin, you sound positively Noldorin," Sauron said as mischievously as he was able to.

"I've spent too much time around them, apparently," Gandalf said dryly. "And we're going to go spend more time with them, if I have to fly your beast myself!" Sauron actually laughed at that, but stood up obediently.

"She wouldn't listen to you," Sauron informed his older brother as he collected the beast's tack and headed for the other passageway of the cave.

"Don't be too sure...wait, _she_?" Gandalf asked incredulously. Sauron shot his brother a surprised look.

"What, did you think they were all males? Yes, she's a female," he said. Gandalf just blinked, trying to absorb that little bit of information as Sauron led the fell beast out to the entrance of the cave.

They mounted and took off, heading north along the Hithaeglir as they gained altitude. They flew through the night, arriving outside of Rivendell in the early hours of the morning. Sauron landed the fell beast outside of the massive ravine Rivendell was built in, refusing to go closer until Elrond had given permission. Gandalf sighed, but knowing it was a slight miracle he had convinced his little brother to even come this close, set out on foot for the Last Homely House, intent on finding out what had happened to the world since he had been imprisoned in Orthanc, and to explain what had happened to him.

Sauron, left to his own devises, quickly cared for the fell beast who then curled up and went to sleep. Alone now, he sat with his back to a large tree, and drew his legs up to his chest. Burying his face in his knees, he drifted half aware in what passed for sleep for him now. True sleep was impossible, as it brought with it horrific nightmares that would send him screaming into consciousness. Vaguely, he was aware of the sun reaching her zenith, and beginning her journey into the West.

She had nearly set when Sauron heard horses approaching, and he pulled himself back to full consciousness. Six horses and five riders approached as he stood, keeping his back to the tree. Gandalf was in the lead, Sauron noted, followed by Elrond, his sons, and the ever-present Glorfindel. Sauron wasn't surprised: the Balrog-slayer took his oath to protect his lord very seriously.

The sixth horse was obviously meant for him, something Sauron found slightly encouraging. Apparently they weren't planning to simply kill him. Of course, he doubted his brother would have lead them here if he knew they planned to hurt him, so the horse could just be to placate Gandalf. The question was, were the Elves really that devious?

Sauron was forced to drop this not-exactly-amusing train of thought as the Elves came to a halt at the far edge of the small clearing and dismounted. Their horses were nervous at the sight and smell of the fell beast, but the beast herself simply looked at them, yawned, and turned her back. Sauron had trained her well, and she knew she wasn't allowed to eat horses.

Sauron waited quietly for one of the arriving party to speak. It was much easier to respond than to speak first, and as this was Gandalf's idea to begin with, he didn't see why he had to be the one to start the conversation. As it happened, it was Elrond who spoke first.

"I thank you for your timely rescue of Mithrandir," he said. "He is a dear friend to many of us." Sauron shot a quick, questioning look at Gandalf, silently asking if he could reveal his motivations. At the small nod, Sauron turned back to Elrond.

"He is my brother," the fallen Maia said simply. The shock among the Elves was palatable. Glorfindel and Elrond had already known that Gandalf was a Maia, but the added revelation of his relationship to the one he had come to defeat was new. The Twins had the added shock of learning that the Wizard was a Maia.

"I see," Elrond said, covering his shock with a noncommittal answer. "Well, so long as you have no ill-intentions towards any of its inhabitants, you are fully welcome to Rivendell's hospitality."

"I thank you," Sauron replied formally, dipping his head briefly. He was exhausted from the nightmarish week he'd endured, and wished for peace and rest at the moment.

"What about the fell beast?" one of the Twins asked. Sauron could see the minor difference between them, but had no idea which one was which. He shrugged.

"Feed her and she'll stay where she is, if she gets hungry she will leave to find food and then return," he said. "She's well trained."

" _She_?" the other Twin spoke up. Sauron was inwardly amused. Apparently everyone did assume they were all male.

"Indeed," was all he said aloud.

"We will provide her with food," Glorfindel said calmly. Sauron nodded in acknowledgement, his attention distracted as Gandalf led over the riderless horse.

Gandalf either have had a hand in choosing it, or it was simply chosen for color, but the horse was beautiful, and a true black. Sauron whispered to it softly in Quenya, scratching it between the eyes, as he admired it. Quickly he was mounted, and the group headed back for Imladris.

Sauron was silent on the ride, and Gandalf noticed the signs of exhaustion in his brother, though it was doubtful any others did. Elrond might have, with his trained healer's eye. Because Gandalf was keeping an eye on his brother, he noticed the wary stiffening upon their entrance into Rivendell's courtyard. It was immediately obvious why. Galadriel stood on the balcony above, clearly radiating disapproval.

"I suppose that's only to be expected," Sauron murmured quietly enough that only Gandalf heard him.

A smile tugged at his lips despite himself as his horse butted its head into his chest for one last scratch before it left for the stables. He obliged it, murmuring to it softly. Finally with a snort, it left, and Elrond approached the pair of Maiar. He had indeed noticed Sauron's exhaustion, and deemed it best to get them settled sooner rather than later.

"If you will follow me, I will show you both to your rooms," he said. "Mithrandir, you have your usual, and your–brother's–are right across from them."

"Thank you," Gandalf said. "I…" He broke off, as Sauron suddenly turned to look South, a perplexed frown on his face.

"What is he doing?" Sauron muttered. Then without warning he crumpled with an agonized cry. Gandalf caught him, holding him tightly as he began to convulse. Elrond quickly knelt beside them, doing what he could to help.

"Without Vilya…" he murmured regretfully.

"This is Saruman's doing," Gandalf said roughly. "It has to be." Elrond nodded.

"Let's get him inside," he said softly. "And I will do what I can."

They carried the now still Maia in the doors, hoping that they would be able to help; hoping that they would be able to somehow defeat the new menace to the South.


	3. Freeing the Three

Sauron sighed as he forced himself to leave the unhealthily comfortable bed. Despite the fact he hadn't truly left it in a week, he still wanted to do nothing more than curl up in it and sleep for a month or so. Still, the nightmares would not let him, and he knew time was racing onward: every day brought Saruman's victory closer. He hadn't been able to do anything for the past week due to the illness that had left him delirious, which everyone suspected was Ring induced. Sauron was fairly certain he knew what Saruman had been trying to do that had triggered it, but he would need to speak with Elrond or Galadriel to confirm it.

Elrond was probably the safer idea, Sauron decided. The wary formality the Peredhel had first shown had melted away when his skills as a healer were needed, and now the Elf-lord had a better understanding of just how broken the Maia was. Sauron was simply grateful that though he had been unable to keep himself from crying out, he had managed to maintain control of what language he spoke in, and had reverted to his earliest tongue, insuring that it was only his brother who could understand him.

Sauron sighed again as he caught sight of himself in a mirror. He had never really been happy with this form, and now, after eating next to nothing for two weeks, he looked worse than ever. Not to mention his hair was a mess. He quickly found a comb, and sitting on a convenient chair, began to work it into some semblance of order. Apart from his eyes, his hair was really the only thing about his physical form that had never changed: it was still as dark and thick as it had always been.

He was lost in the few remaining memories he had of the time before everything had gone wrong when someone knocked at the door. Recalling himself from his bittersweet past, he raised his voice slightly, and called for whomever it was to come in. It was Elrond who entered, and the healer looked his patient over critically before his face relaxed into a small smile.

"You are looking better," he commented. Sauron raised an eyebrow.

"I have the distinct impression you are simply being polite," he said dryly. "I look like something that was dead for a few weeks and then reanimated. If that's better, then I hate to think I've looked like this past week." Elrond actually snorted at that.

"You're not far wrong about your appearance, but your eyes are clear and focused again, instead of the confused haze they've held all week," he said.

"Whatever Saruman was doing, he stopped, and I don't think he succeeded if I'm correct about what he was trying to do," Sauron said contemplatively.

"You know what he was doing?" Elrond asked, slightly surprised. Sauron nodded.

"I'm almost certain, though I will need to speak with you, Olórin," he paused for a second before sighing and continuing, "and Galadriel as well, if she will agree to speak with me, to know for sure." Elrond nodded thoughtfully.

"My office will probably be best for such a discussion," he said. "I will escort you there to show you where it is, then collect the others." Sauron nodded, setting down the comb.

"And to make sure I don't fall flat on my face before I get halfway," he commented dryly.

"That as well," Elrond agreed calmly. Sauron resisted the urge to sigh again. Healers.

Sauron made the journey without too much difficulty. He still felt slightly weak, but refused to let any of it show, though he did sink gratefully into a padded chair once inside Elrond's office. The Peredhel studied him briefly, then nodded, and left to go find Gandalf and Galadriel.

Sauron stared out the window at the ravine Rivendell had been built in, letting his mind begin to work on the tangled problem facing Middle-earth. There were really only two immediate things he could see himself doing that would be helpful. He was more of a liability than a help in the coming war. For war there would be, unless the Elves decided to flee these shores. Still, he could not see them doing so without first at least trying to mount a resistance, and perhaps, perhaps, he could give them an edge.

He blinked and refocused when the door opened, turning to face those entering. Gandalf looked him over much as Elrond had done earlier, then sat by him. Galadriel entered with her face studiously blank, but Sauron could feel the disapproval and antipathy only held in check by the seriousness of the situation. He was glad Gandalf was between the two of them. Elrond sat at his desk, surveying the faces before him before turning to Sauron with a clear invitation to speak.

"I'm fairly certain that what occurred this past week was a result of Saruman trying to bring the Three under his control," Sauron said bluntly, getting straight to the point. "The Nine and the Seven would have been under his control as soon as he had control of the One, but the Three are connected to the One far more tenuously, and Saruman will have to first figure out how I managed to connect them in the first place before he can attempt to dominate them. That will take him some time. Of course, to be certain that is what he was attempting to do, I will need to see at least one of them."

He looked slightly expectantly at the Elves, and it was with surprise that he watched Gandalf pull Narya out of his robes and hand it to him. He stared at the Ring of Fire on his palm with bemusement.

"There is something inherently ironic about the fact that the one I have been unable to even guess at its location has been on my brother's hand this whole time," he said dryly, before beginning to study it intensely, turning it over and over in his fingers. If he had known it, he looked much the same as he had when he first came up with the idea of the Rings in the first place.

"Arrogant fool," he finally said softly, though full of derision. Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"Celebrimbor or Saruman?" he asked dryly.

"Saruman," Sauron replied distantly, still focused on the Ring he held. Gandalf sighed.

"Mairon, just because you never liked him, and he made minor mistakes, doesn't make him a fool. I never understood the rivalry between the two of you," Gandalf said with exasperation.

"Blowing up half a planet isn't a 'minor mistake', Olórin," Sauron said, matching his tone. "And the rivalry was only in his head. I completely outclassed him." Gandalf just sighed, knowing from past experience that he was never going to convince Sauron anyway.

"Anyway, this attempt was unintelligent, even for him," Sauron continued. "He tried to use me as the intermediary, like it is with the Seven and the Nine. But as I wasn't involved in making the Three, there is no part of my essence in them, unlike the others. I had to use my knowledge of Celebrimbor to bring them under the dominion of the One. Of course, even though Saruman has gone through all of my memories, he didn't even think to use them to figure out how to control the Three–"

"He did what?" Gandalf all but growled. Sauron blinked, cutting off his rant. He hadn't meant to tell his brother that little detail, though he was fairly certain that if Gandalf had thought about it rationally, he could have guessed. Of course, he had also been fairly certain that there was no way Gandalf would have thought about this rationally. He sighed.

"There used to be a time when I could actually talk without giving away the secrets I was trying to keep…" he commented to the arm of his chair. He looked up and met his brother's thunderous expression. "Yes, Olórin, he completely tore apart my mind and soul. Just what did you think he had done to me?"

Gandalf's expression shifted to one of deep pain. "I didn't," he admitted softly. "I couldn't bear to think what he had done to you, even before you rescued me from Orthanc." He paused, then continued in a whisper, "I felt I had failed you."

"Olórin…" Sauron said softly, his expression of sorrow. "You never failed me. If anything, I failed you. Ultimately, this is all my fault." He paused, wondering if he should continue, but decided that it would probably come out eventually. "And this is not the first time this has happened to me."

"Who?" Gandalf demanded, his expression shifting back to anger. Sauron gave him a haunted, pain-filled look.

"Who do you think?" he asked flatly. Gandalf's expression shifted to one that not even Sauron could interpret.

"Just for his own sadistic enjoyment, or did he have an excuse?" he asked in a sarcastic tone of voice. Sauron gave a bitter laugh, looking back out of the window, unable to look at his brother or the two Elves who could currently pass for statues.

"Oh, he had a reason," he said caustically, unable to hide the extreme pain in his voice. "He blamed me for the fact he had lost a Silmaril. The scars come from that night as well, I know you've been planning ask me about them." Two soft sudden intakes of air were heard from the Elves as they placed what Sauron was talking about. Elrond had seen the scars Sauron carried from Gothmog along with Gandalf as they tended him through his weeklong delirium. Galadriel had not seen them, but she had made it her mission to know everything she could about the Quest that had cost her brother his life.

"That time was worse," Sauron admitted in a barely audible whisper, looking down at his hands, not knowing how lost that made him look. "He destroyed or bound most of my memories…except the ones that dealt with my technical knowledge he still wished to exploit…and the ones I hated, or regretted…" He shifted in his seat, still not looking at anyone.

"I don't know how many are truly gone, and how many are simply bound," he continued, slightly louder. "Though I've probed the bindings, doing so is…painful, and I can't lift them."

"Could someone else do so?" Gandalf asked, his voice rough. Sauron shrugged.

"One of the Valar probably could," he admitted. "But I doubt I could bear the touch of another mind for as long and with the intimacy it would take, and frankly, the Valar are simply going to throw me to the Void, not bother to try and heal me." Gandalf closed his eyes, looking old, even accounting for the form he wore. There was silence, as no one knew what to say after that statement. Finally, Sauron shifted again, consciously putting his past behind him and moving on, as he always had done to survive.

"We have gotten far off topic," he said in an almost normal voice. "I have been thinking, and there are two definite things I can do to assist. The first is that I can unmake the Three, and thus keep the three of you from being enslaved. However, after studying Narya, I think it might, might, be possible for me to free them from the hold the One has on them." Everyone else in the room straightened, their attention fully caught.

"If you could do so, that would be a great help," Elrond said. "It would certainly give us more of a chance than we have at the present."

"Even the combined might of the Three will not stand against the One," Sauron cautioned. "But there are certainly other ways to use them that will be most helpful. I will, of course, need to borrow your forge."

"Of course," Elrond said, and then paused as Sauron stood up. "Are you sure you are up to it at the moment?" Sauron nodded.

"Every moment we waste is simply more time for Saruman how to figure out how to control them." he said. "Time is not on our side."

They all realized the validity of that statement, and Elrond led the way to Rivendell's forges, the best the Noldor still had this side of the sea. Sauron carefully looked around the forge, happily realizing that it was similar to the one that had existed in Ost-in-Edhil, while Elrond graciously declined the smiths' offers of aid.

"Is there anything you need from us?" Elrond asked as the last of the smiths left, giving Sauron suspicious glances as they did so. Sauron shook his head.

"I'll need the Rings, but that's it," he said, as he moved around the forge, familiarizing himself with it quickly, and turning his attention back to Narya. Gandalf couldn't help but smile as he watched his little brother begin to work. There was an unconscious grace in his movements, as if the forge was merely an extension of himself to accomplish what he wished. The smile grew bigger as Gandalf realized that Sauron was actually humming, softly to be sure, but that instinctive sound alerted Gandalf to the fact that his brother was completely and happily engrossed in what he was doing.

Gandalf turned his attention to the two Elves at his side, observing their reactions. Both were watching, awed and impressed by what they saw. Galadriel noticed his scrutiny, and turned with a small smile.

"I have watched my family work, as well as others who served and learned under Aulë," she said softly, so as to not disturb Sauron. "But the only one in whom I have seen this level of competence and grace, besides Aulë himself, was Fëanor." Gandalf nodded.

"Your uncle always reminded me of Mairon," he told her, "and not just because of their skills in the forge. It concerned me, but there was nothing I could do." Galadriel nodded, and was silent for a while.

"I wonder what they would have made of each other, had they ever met," she mused finally. Gandalf gave her an amused look.

"They would have either been best of friends, or they would have absolutely hated each other," he said dryly. She laughed softly at that. They stood silent, watching Sauron work, until he finally stopped moving, studying Narya again.

"Double check it for me, Olórin," he called, tossing it back to its bearer. Gandalf did so, using all his limited resources, before finally slipping it on his finger, feeling its pulsing rhythm. It was rejoicing.

"It's free," he said, nodding to Sauron, who grinned, lighting up his whole face.

"Good," he said in satisfaction. "Nenya next, then?" Galadriel nodded, and pulled it out on a chain around her neck, slipping it free and handing it to him. It was an even shorter time before Sauron was tossing it back to Gandalf, who quickly checked it over before returning it to Galadriel.

"That was swifter than the time needed with Narya," she commented as she slipped it back on her finger. Sauron nodded as he took Vilya from Elrond.

"Nenya was made specifically for you," he explained. "I'm binding the Rings closer to what they've picked up from their bearers over the Ages, to change them enough so that they will not be recognized by the One. What Nenya has learned from you, and Celebrimbor's original ideals for it are quite harmonious, making it easier." Galadriel nodded her understanding, falling silent again as Sauron began to work with Vilya. It took longer than with Nenya, but shorter than with Narya, before he tossed Vilya to Gandalf, who checked it and handed it back to Elrond. Sauron sighed shortly, gripping the edge of a table as some of his exhaustion slipped through his mask now that he didn't have a task to focus on.

"Well, that went surprisingly well," he commented. Suddenly, his head snapped up and he stared to the south. Gandalf recognized the warning signs, and quickly moved to his side. "And just in time," Sauron managed to mutter before he collapsed again.

Gandalf began to use Narya to shelter and shield his little brother, quickly joined by Elrond, who did the same with Vilya. A few seconds later, a white light joined the red and blue. Sauron's unfeigned shock at Galadriel's willingness to help him was palatable, as was Galadriel's slight chagrin at his reaction. Working in concert, the Three encased Sauron's fëa in a temporary protective cocoon. Elrond, using Vilya, quickly sought and found the place where Sauron was connected to the One. It was also the site of the most damage; it was as if his fëa had been shredded in that area. Elrond began to work to create a shield over the area, binding it as tightly to the section as he dared. Galadriel joined him, using Nenya's unwillingness to yield to strengthen it against the destructive echoes of the One. Gandalf continued to support Sauron with Narya, wrapping him in warmth and protection.

 _I think I can make this permanent_ , Elrond silently murmured. _But I will need to anchor it to something._

 _A memory?_ Galadriel proposed. _A strong one, one of happiness and peace, that can be incorporated into the shield._

 _That might work_ , Elrond agreed.

 _Happy memory…_ Sauron mused. _Hmm, I should have at least one left somewhere, I suppose…_

 _Not helping, Mairon,_ Gandalf admonished.

 _Sorry, Olórin,_ Sauron said sheepishly. _Ah, what about this one?_

It certainly seemed to fit the requirements. It was simple, the brothers working together to build something that had them chattering about various substances that the Elves only vaguely recognized. Finally, they finished the small cylindrical device they were working on, and they lit the bottom on fire before running a safe distance away. They watched as it exploded in a burst of color and sound, before turning and grinning at each other.

 _Is that how your fireworks were started?_ Galadriel asked in amusement.

 _Yes,_ Gandalf and Sauron replied, almost as one.

 _Those were good days…_ Gandalf said nostalgically.

 _I had already been targeted by Melkor at that point,_ Sauron said, faint sorrow in his mental voice. _But working on the fireworks let me forget all about that and simply enjoy myself._

 _There, I believe that has done it,_ Elrond commented quietly, pulling back away from the shield and studying it carefully. _Though I am not sure if it would stand up to a targeted assault._

Sauron studied it himself, poking at it gently. _It wouldn't stand up to the One, no,_ he agreed. _But Saruman would have to be fairly close to me to wield it against me that precisely, and if I get that close to him again, I'll loose far more than just the shield. It will hold up nicely to the distant echoes I have been getting from here._

 _Good,_ Elrond said. _Then I suppose we can withdraw and let you get some rest._

 _Er, actually, with your permission there is something I would like to do first,_ Sauron said. At Gandalf's unquestioning acceptance, and Elrond and Galadriel's curious confirmation, he drew on the power of the Three, letting the form he wore shift. The Elves could only compare the sensations to taking off stiff, dirty, ill-fitting clothing and slipping into a beloved pair of pajamas, as Sauron for the first time that Age shifted back to the form he thought of as his.

 _That's better,_ he sighed contentedly. Elrond and Galadriel studied the now delicate features of the Maia as they withdrew gently from the surface of his mind and soul. Elrond could see the resemblance to the features of Annatar, and Galadriel could see what the stories had meant when they had described the features of Morgoth's lieutenant. But Gandalf just smiled, recognizing the features of his little brother.

"Come on, Mairon," he said softly. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

Elrond saw Gandalf and Sauron off to their rooms, glad that they had been able to protect the younger Maia's fëa. Tired as he was though, he could not even think of going to bed. Since Vilya had been returned to him, a wild, desperate hope had been growing, though he had pushed it aside to deal with the concerns of the moment. Now, though, with those dispatched, he hurried with un-lordly speed to the healing wing. There he found his daughter, sitting at the bedside of her beloved, her face wan, already grieving, though Aragorn still drew breath.

"Ada?" she said when Elrond entered.

"How is he, my daughter?" Elrond murmured. Arwen shook her head.

"He still wanders far, and he weakens," she said with weary exhaustion. "I cannot reach him." Elrond gently squeezed her shoulders.

"Hope is not yet lost, Arwen," he told her gently. "I may be able to reach him now." He showed her the blue and gold Ring that again sat on his finger. Shocked eyes flew to his face.

"But…Ada…" she stammered. Elrond smiled.

"Sauron freed them from the dominion of the One," he told her. "And with Vilya's aid, I may be able to threat the maze Aragorn's wandering fëa is lost in, and bring him back to us." A light lit in Arwen's silver eyes, a desperate, determined hope, as she gripped Aragorn's unresponsive hand tighter. Elrond nodded to her, then placed his hands on the man's forehead and chest.

 _Aragorn…_ he called, seeking his son, Vilya aiding him. _Estel…Estel, where are you?_ The living world around him faded, and again the ancient battle-cry came: _aurë entuluva…_

Yet Elrond, with Vilya to aid him, was now able to go beyond the twisting paths that enshrouded the man's mind and soul, seeking deeper. _Estel…_ he called again. _Aragorn…_

Finally, Elrond found him, standing on a lonely outcropping of rock that the half-elf didn't recognize. Aragorn was standing with his back to his father, and did not turn around, but continued to stare out towards whatever scene lay before him. Elrond could not see what it was; all was dark beyond Aragorn to his eyes. The only light lay behind them.

 _Estel!_ He called again. _Estel, my son! Will you not hear me?_

 _They are all dead, Ada,_ Aragorn finally said, his voice a dull monotone.

 _Not all of them, Estel. Some yet live,_ Elrond answered.

 _They died for me,_ Aragorn continued, as if he hadn't heard Elrond. Elrond swallowed, not wanting to take this tactic, but fearing not much else would get through.

 _They did,_ he admitted. _Are you going to ignore and discard their sacrifice? Will you linger here until you follow them, and make it so they died in vain?_

This finally broke through to Aragorn, and he spun around in shock. Elrond kept on the offensive.

 _And what of Arwen?_ he asked. _Will you leave her alone? She grieves you already, though you still draw breath. Will you leave her to fade, and to sail, and to forever mourn the life she might have had at your side? She willingly gives up nearly everything she has to cleave to you: will you leave her with nothing?_

 _No, Ada, of course not!_ Aragorn protested. _I love her…but I am lost. I tried to find my way out, but all I could find was…death…_

 _Come with me, my son,_ Elrond said gently. _Let me lead you home…Arwen is waiting…_ A small smile touched the man's face at those words, and willingly he walked forward and placed his hand in Elrond's. At that touch, Elrond was back in the waking world, looking down at the faintly fluttering eyelids of his foster son.

"Estel," he called gently, and the man opened his eyes. But his first look was not at Elrond; Aragorn lolled his head so he could see Arwen, who was squeezing his hand tightly.

"Arwen, vanimelda," he murmured. Arwen had tears in her eyes, but her smile could have outshone the Trees.

"I am here, Estel, and you are home," she murmured to him. "Rest now, my love. Rest and heal." Aragorn smiled at her, then turned his gaze to Elrond.

"Ada," he murmured.

"Drink this, my son," Elrond said, supporting the man as he held a small dosing glass to his lips. "It will ease your rest." Aragorn obediently drained the glass, and Elrond laid it aside to gently brush the man's hair from his face.

"Sleep now, Estel," he said, and it did not take long for the Man's eyes to close again, and his breathing to ease into the deeper rhythms of sleep. When they did, Elrond looked to his daughter, seeing the same thought reflected in her eyes.

Hope yet lived.


	4. Rebelliousness

Sauron awoke lazily, stretched slightly, and yawned. This bed truly was incredibly comfortable, and was piled with thick blankets that made it even more so. He was warm and content, and he savored both sensations. However, a small part of his brain was nagging at him. There was something he was forgetting…

He absently stared at the light increasing out of his window as he thought. The sun was rising. Wait, it was morning? He had slept the night through without waking up from a nightmare? Perhaps it was a side effect of the shield Elrond and Galadriel had been able to place over the more damaged sections of his fëa last night. Or perhaps…

He looked the other way, to find Gandalf sleeping in an armchair beside his bed. He smiled. Or perhaps it was simply that he felt overwhelmingly safe in his older brother's presence.

His smile turned mischievous as he studied the sleeping wizard. It was morning, after all, and he did need to wake up… Sauron carefully maneuvered himself half-way out of the bed, bracing himself on the arms of the chair, until his face was just in front of Gandalf's.

"Olórin," he whispered softly. "Wake up."

To his credit, Gandalf didn't even flinch when he opened his eyes to find his little brother's face three inches from his own. Slightly disappointed, Sauron slid back into his bed, lying on his side as Gandalf stood and stretched.

"This form is hardly conducive to sleeping in armchairs," he grumbled, as his back popped.

"Is any form conducive to sleeping in armchairs?" Sauron asked mildly. Gandalf shot him a wry look.

"Cat, maybe," he mused. "Why would you want to be a cat?" Sauron asked.

"You don't like cats?" Gandalf asked, a faint note of teasing in his voice.

"I like them," Sauron defended himself. "I simply wouldn't like to be one." Gandalf chuckled at that, then sat on the side of the bed, stroking Sauron's dark hair, making the younger Maia smile happily.

"So I was thinking," Sauron finally said.

"You, thinking?" Gandalf interrupted him. "Ilúvatar help us all."

"Olórin!" Sauron protested. Gandalf laughed at that, and began to tickle his little brother. Laughing, Sauron squirmed away, and a playful fight ensued until Sauron managed to wrap his arms around Gandalf, pinning him in place.

"Not fair," Gandalf said gruffly, but with laughter in his voice as Sauron rested his chin on the wizard's shoulder.

"Hmph," Sauron said. "You started it. But as I was saying…" Gandalf laughed at the forceful tone in his voice.

"You remember how I said there were two things I felt I could do?" Sauron continued more seriously, letting Gandalf go and sitting back.

"Yes, I do," Gandalf said, turning to face him. "What was the second one?" Sauron flopped down on his pillows, a hesitant expression on his face.

"How rebellious are you?" he asked, instead of answering.

"You went further in that direction than I did, Mairon," Gandalf said lightly, but with a serious undertone.

"I know," Sauron said. "But I really doubt you can do much against Saruman with your natural abilities still bound as they are. Saruman will have undoubtedly used the Ring to undo his own." Gandalf sighed and nodded.

"But just what are you suggesting?" he asked. Sauron hesitated for a moment.

"I took a look at the bindings last night," he said finally, "and I think that I could lift them." Now it was Gandalf's turn to be silent for a long while.

"When I accepted the assignment to come to Middle-earth, I was forbidden to use my powers in direct conflict," he finally said slowly.

"Which is why I asked how rebellious you felt," Sauron pointed out. "I'm not suggesting you directly challenge Saruman; frankly, that would be foolish, considering how much the Ring will enhance his natural abilities. I simply don't like the idea of you being as vulnerable as you are at the moment. With your power and natural form unbound, you could at least escape if everything went wrong," he finished softly.

"I wouldn't leave you, Mairon," Gandalf said quietly.

"Olórin, if he wins, I will be his thrall, and there will be nothing that can be done unless the Valar send Eönwë with a host of Maiar to challenge him," Sauron said firmly. Gandalf said nothing to that, but pulled Sauron up off the bed and into his arms.

"Alright," the wizard finally sighed into Sauron's hair. "Are you sure you can lift them?"

"Fairly certain," Sauron replied. "They were not designed to be permanent, and were placed carefully, so I should be able to. Stay still." He pulled slightly out of Gandalf's hold, and placed his fingers on the wizard's temples. He stayed like that for several minutes.

"Um, Mairon?" Gandalf finally asked.

"Stay still," Sauron murmured.

"What are you doing?" Gandalf asked, ignoring what his brother had said.

"Making sure I understand how all of this works," Sauron replied, slightly impatiently. "I don't want to make a mistake. Now hold still!"

This time, Gandalf did as he was told, and it was a few minutes more before something deep inside of him snapped. A deluge of memories, sensations, knowledge, and power came flooding back to him, and he reeled slightly before catching himself. In his arms, Sauron swayed, nearly falling before Olórin tightened his grip.

"Did it work?" Sauron asked, tilting his head back up from where it had fallen. In response, Olórin shifted back to his usual incarnate form.

"Good," Sauron said, before resting his head back on his brother's shoulder.

"Tired?" Olórin asked in concern. Sauron nodded.

"It took a bit more energy than I was expecting," he admitted.

"Do you want to lay down?" Olórin asked. "Perhaps you should take a nap."

"Sleep sounds wonderful," Sauron admitted. "But as comfortable as that bed is…can we go out into the sunshine?" Olórin smiled at that.

"Of course we can, if you are capable of walking," Olórin said. His little brother was such a hedonist sometimes.

"I can walk," Sauron said without moving.

"I'm sure you can," Olórin said, slightly patronizingly, before shifting his grip to place an arm around Sauron's waist, before half-dragging him out of the room. Thankfully, the place Olórin had in mind wasn't far, because despite Sauron's claims to being ambulatory, the older Maia was supporting nearly all of his weight, and providing all of the forward momentum.

Not far from the brothers' rooms was a covered walkway with large, graceful, arched openings. The bottoms of these were thick and wide, designed for sitting. Or, at least, that's what the Twins and Aragorn had always claimed. Olórin had never seen a reason to dispute them. Now he settled with his back against one of the pillars, and pulled his little brother into his arms. Sauron was asleep almost before Olórin had him settled, something that made the older Maia slightly concerned. Lifting the bindings probably had been a bit too much for the still recovering Sauron, not that he would ever admit that.

Olórin leaned his head back, letting the sound of the waterfall take him back to the past, when he and Mairon had lived in a small clearing beside one. He could almost believe he had his back against one of Yavanna's latest grown trees, something most of the Ainur had come to like rather swiftly. The only other idea of hers that had caught on more quickly was grass. Those had been good days, full of excitement as they had worked to prepare and create Arda, before Evil had begun to stalk his innocent little brother, darkening those brilliant eyes.

But beyond all hope, Olórin had his brother back in his arms. He could scarcely believe it wasn't a dream. He knew what Sauron believed his fate would be: either enslavement by Saruman if they lost, or a trial in Valinor that would end with him being sentenced to the Void if they won. Olórin, however, could not help hoping that the Valar would not take his brother from him again. Surely his help now could sway the decision in favor of mercy? Olórin unconsciously tightened his grip on his Sauron. He knew that his little brother was not yet completely lost, and didn't want to let him go.

 _Oh, my Lord Manwë,_ he silently prayed. _If I have earned any reward for my long and faithful service, let it be this: let me save my brother._

* * *

"Take it slow, Estel," Elrond admonished gently.

"I'm not planning to start running around the Valley," Aragorn said with a wry smile to soften his rebellious words. "I just want to sit in the chair, and for someone to tell me what is going on in Arda, beyond 'everything seems to be calm at the moment'."

Elrond sighed, recognizing the signs of old that indicated Aragorn's stubborn will asserting itself.

"Very well, you may sit in the chair if you wish, but before the tale, which is a long and complicated one, and will take most of your strength, I am going to insist you eat, and rest again," Elrond said. "And do please keep in mind that if you push too quickly and have a setback, it will only increase the time you must spend in your bed."

"I'm listening to my body, Ada," Aragorn assured him. "I just…I need something to keep myself active, at least mentally. I need to do something constructive about the situation."

"And healing is constructive," Elrond said with gentle insistence.

"My head knows that, but my heart is less easy to convince," Aragorn said softly, closing his eyes as an expression of grief crossed his face. Before Elrond could grow too concerned, though, he opened them again.

"Arwen is resting?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yes, though I am sure she will return when she has slept herself out," Elrond answered, turning halfway through his answer as a soft knock sounded at the door, which then opened, admitting an Elf from the kitchen with a tray for Aragorn. It was quickly arranged on Aragorn's knees, and a small table nearby.

"Now eat, Estel," Elrond said, "and it will hasten that tale you want so badly." Aragorn managed a grin at the chiding tone of his childhood.

"Yes Ada," he replied cheekily.

Elrond smiled at him, but wondered if Aragorn was truly ready to hear what he had to say.

* * *

 **Thank you to both Silk Leaf and Guest, my anonymous reviewers! I cannot reply any other way, but I wanted you to know I appreciated your reviews.**


	5. Council of Desperation

As luck would have it, Glorfindel was the first to come down the walkway the two Maiar were sitting in. He raised an amused eyebrow.

"Well, hello Olórin," he drawled softly. "Been a while, hasn't it?" Olórin simply gave him a look.

"One day, my friend," he replied. "That's not long even by mortal standards." Glorfindel grinned, before becoming serious.

"I thought your natural powers were bound," he said. Olórin nodded.

"They were," he replied steadily. "But the game has changed now."

"So you're going against your orders?" Glorfindel asked, surprised. Olórin shrugged.

"Runs in the family," he said lightly.

"Sure," Sauron muttered without moving, still looking fast asleep. "Blame me."

"I didn't, Mairon, but I can if you want," Olórin said pointedly.

"If it keeps you out of trouble, go ahead," Sauron said seriously, opening his eyes. "I can't really get in _more_ trouble at this point."

"Did we wake you?" Olórin asked, changing the subject. Sauron shrugged.

"It's fine," he said. "I really need to start planning, anyway." He sighed. "I hate working under a deadline."

"How much time would you liked?" Glorfindel asked curiously.

"Couple hundred years would be nice," Sauron answered wryly.

"How long do you think we have?" Olórin asked.

"Two weeks," Sauron said succinctly. "And then we had better have a plan for getting out of this whole mess." Glorfindel and Olórin nodded somewhat grimly, recognizing the truth in that statement.

"Well, I will inform my lord that perhaps a council to inform all here how affairs stand in Middle-earth at the moment might be useful," Glorfindel said, then paused for a minute. "Oh, and Olórin, you might be interested to know that Estel is awake."

"Elrond was able to use Vilya effectively, then?" Olórin asked. Glorfindel nodded. Sauron glanced between them.

"Let me guess," he said dryly. "This 'Estel' is the heir of Isildur I've been hearing rumors about for half a century now."

"Yes," Olórin admitted. "His true name is Aragorn. When Saruman first gained the Ring, he also launched an assault to try to take him prisoner. He escaped, with help, but was badly wounded. With Elrond unable to use Vilya, his condition remained grave." Olórin sighed. "Most of those of his kinsmen and friends with him bought his freedom with their lives," he finished softly.

"So he's barely recovering, grieving, and most likely angry," Sauron summed up, sighing. "This will be interesting."

"Well, there's little point in worrying about that until we must," Olórin said, ignoring his brother's incredulous look. "Are you hungry?" Sauron gave his brother a long, evaluating look, then grinned wickedly.

"You want to confuse the Mirröanwi," he said smugly. "Well, lunch is as good a place to do so as any." Glorfindel began laughing, as Sauron stood up, accepting Glorfindel's proffered hand as he did so, much to Olórin's shock.

"I believe I will accompany you, just to see the reactions you will receive," Glorfindel said, as Olórin stood up.

"I fail to see why you believe I am doing this for the reactions," Olórin mock sniffed. "I am doing this merely out of a concern for my younger brother's welfare." Sauron laughed at that, and Olórin couldn't help but smile at the rich, warm sound.

"I don't believe anyone who knows you would believe that, Olórin," the younger Maia said, walking easily between the Elf-lord and his brother.

Glorfindel listened with amusement as the brothers continued to bicker amicably as they headed towards where most of Rivendell's inhabitants and their guests were informally gathered for the midday meal. As he had predicted, they turned surprised heads. The brothers were almost inverse copies of each other. Olórin was half a head taller than Sauron, and the older's white-blond hair was opposed by younger's fathomless black; Olórin's deep purple eyes contrasted Sauron's brilliant gold, but in features the two were almost identical.

To make everything more interesting, at least from Glorfindel's point of view, and probably from that of the Maiar as well, was that many people could still recognize Olórin as Gandalf, or thought they did, and were becoming even more confused. Glorfindel carefully held his laughter back until he left, hearing as he went Sauron's quiet, sardonic, "Enjoying yourself, Olórin?" That broke his composure, and he left to find Elrond, snickering helplessly.

* * *

The Council was held the next morning, on a balcony overlooking the Bruinen. Sauron had easily manipulated Olórin into staying with him, and had slept the night through, curled safely in his brother's arms. Two full nights of sleep had done wonders for the younger Maia, and his collected, confident personality was back in the fore.

Sauron's expression was a careful mix between studied nonchalance and polite interest as he entered the balcony where the council would be held. A slight raise in his eyebrows indicated his surprise as he saw who was there.

"Aiwendil," he greeted the other Maia courteously. "I didn't know you were here." A startled look came over the Wizard's face.

"It's been a very long time since I was called that," Radagast commented quietly. Sauron shrugged.

"It's your name," he pointed out. "Or, well, the Quenya translation of your name."

Olórin came in behind Sauron, and greeted Radagast as well. Sauron glanced around the balcony. Elrond's chief advisors, Lady Galadriel, more elves, most from Mirkwood by their dress, but one looked to be from the Havens, Dwarves from Erebor, a man, clearly Dúnedain, that looked so much like Amandil that Sauron immediately guessed it was that Aragorn, and the three Maiar.

Sauron frowned inwardly. With only one of the Secondborn present, it seemed too heavily biased towards the Firstborn. Still, what was, was. Those present focused on Elrond when he entered, and the whole company settled into a circle of chairs. Elrond's advisors settled to his right, and Galadriel settled on his left. Sauron slipped into the seat next to her, returning her polite greetings as Olórin and Radagast sat to his left, followed by the Dwarves and then Aragorn, who sat as a buffer between them and the Elves, a rather politic move, Sauron noted.

Elrond quickly introduced those invited to the council, confirming Sauron's guess as to the identity of those involved. Their reactions to Sauron's presence ranged from nervous surprise to wary belligerence. However, Elrond, Olórin, and Galadriel's easy acceptance of him defused this slightly; Galadriel in particular getting many surreptitious looks for her easy greeting of the Maia all knew she had hated.

"Here we are gathered, not by chance, and we here must answer the threat that has risen unexpectedly," Elrond began. "For Saruman the White has betrayed us and all of Middle-earth, taking to himself the One Ring, greatest of all the Rings of Power, and now seeks to dominate all who dwell on these shores. The history of the Ring is long, but let it suffice to say that it was found by Bilbo Baggins in a cave deep within the Misty Mountains, when he crossed them in the company of Thorin Oakenshield, the year Smaug was slain and Erebor restored. When Bilbo Baggins permanently left his home in the Shire and retired here to Rivendell, he left everything to his younger kinsman Frodo Baggins.

"Frodo Baggins kept the Ring for many years, and was slain when Saruman found and claimed the Ring. Saruman then returned to Isengard, and launched an assault to the North, while he himself went East. Aragorn, it was your people who guarded the Shire, as well as stopped Saruman's northern advance. Will you tell of it?"

"The Shire was invaded fairly cleanly," Aragorn started somberly. "Frodo Baggins was murdered, and a few Hobbits were ridden down when Saruman's men left the Shire, but other than that none were slain. The Dúnedain who guarded the roads they used to enter the Shire were killed, and many more were slain when Saruman launched the offensive against them."

"He was after you," Glorfindel commented. Aragorn shrugged, a guilty look coming into his eyes.

"Perhaps," he said. "No matter what he was after, his forces were driven back, though at the cost of too many good men's lives. It is uncertain whether another such force could be repelled, however. We do not have the numbers necessary."

"Could those in Rhovanion come to their aid?" Legolas asked. "We have battle tested armies, as we have always lived with the knowledge if war came to Middle-earth again, we would be attacked, and the Battle of the Five Armies is still within living mortal memory for some. Would it be safe to bring some of them here?"

"Rhovanion will have a respite for a time," Sauron commented, speaking up for the first time. "Saruman does not have the allegiance of the Eastern tribes, and he will instead focus first on Eriador. He is gathering his forces at the moment, figuring out what he does and doesn't have under his control. Once he has done so, he will launch an offensive either against Rivendell, or the Grey Havens. Rohan he already has worn down, they are no threat to him at this time. Gondor is further away, and does not have the forces required to launch a counteroffensive, though they still can long defend their own holdings. The strength to resist him lies here, so he will strike here first."

"So we could bring aid without undue threat to our own lands," Legolas said.

"Perhaps, but crossing the Misty Mountains in force is no easy task. I'm not sure you could bring enough to make a difference, and still have enough to defend your lands," Sauron replied. "Still, it is something to keep in mind."

"It is indeed," Glóin said. "But I am more curious about how Saruman learned of the Ring to begin with. How was his treachery discovered?"

"I discovered it," Olórin said softly. Then he shot a wry look at his brother. "Though I suppose you knew before any of us." Sauron shrugged and nodded.

"I had long been suspicious of Bilbo's ring," Olórin told Glóin, "but it was not until this year I discovered it was the One. When I did so, I left the Shire, for I felt uneasy. There I found Radagast, who told me the Nazgûl were abroad again, and that Saruman had summoned me to Isengard. I went, determined to seek his aid and advice on what to do now that the One had been found. When I arrived at Orthanc, he hid his mind from me, until I had told him what I knew of the One. Then he revealed his plans to wield the One. He tried to convince me to join him, but I would not…so I was imprisoned on the top of Orthanc, helpless to do more than watch as he gained the Ring, and seemed to be set to conquer Middle-earth." Olórin's voice broke.

"It is my fault," he whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "I led him straight to it…Doomed Frodo to death, and the rest of us to destruction or enslavement." Sauron nudged him.

"No, it is not your fault, Olórin," he said firmly. "It is not your fault Curumo decided to betray his lord and mission, nor your fault that he abused his position as head of your order to get the information he wanted. Everything that has happened his his fault…of course, you could always blame me for making that cursed Ring in the first place."

Olórin said nothing more, but he opened his eyes again, and Sauron could see the darkness in them recede a bit, though it didn't disappear completely. He obviously still felt he was to blame in some degree. Well, Sauron decided, he would have to simple keep reminding Olórin that it wasn't his fault, until he finally believed it.

"It seems to me that everything seems to come back to the Ring," Gimli said suddenly.

"He is right," Legolas said, seeming slightly surprised that those words were coming out of his mouth. "The Ring is central to all we have discussed." He turned to face Sauron. "If the Ring is yours, how is it that Saruman can wield it as he has? Why does it answer to him?"

"The short answer would be that it had decided to let him," Sauron said dryly.

"I thought the Ring was part of you," Aragorn said suddenly, belligerently.

"It was, over four thousand years ago," Sauron replied, "But since it has been separate from me, it has changed. I am no longer the being I was then. Nor is the Ring the same. It is like…"

"Flatworms," Radagast said suddenly. All eyes turned to him, Sauron tipping his head slightly to the side in bemusement.

"If you cut a flatworm in half, it will grow back into two worms," Radagast explained. "You cut yourself in half making that Ring, and since you've been separated in such different environments, not to mention having a slightly different original make up, you're now two separate entities."

"That's…actually a rather good metaphor," Sauron said, surprised. "Except the Ring is still connected to me."

"But now it has a will of its own?" Legolas asked.

"In a way," Sauron replied. "It is a will, but a will only to power. It answers most fully to those who already have great personal power, and wishes to be wielded by the one who most desires to rule all. For most of its existence, that was me. Now Saruman, it would seem, has won its allegiance."

"But if it is the will to power, why does it wish to be controlled by another at all?" asked Gimli. Sauron shrugged.

"It cannot wield itself, or I'm sure it would do so. But it matters not, for whoever uses it finds themselves becoming both slaves to and reflections of the Ring. I suppose it would be more accurate to say the Ring wields its bearer, rather than the other way around. However, it is demanding when it comes to who can wield it. Only those with a strong amount of personal will can use it, though it will corrupt any who are even in its vicinity for too long," Sauron explained.

"And it has chosen Saruman," Gimli stated. Sauron nodded.

"Yes, it has," he replied. "Of course, Saruman also deliberately sought it out."

"Do you know the circumstances of Saruman's fall?" Elrond asked.

"Yes," Sauron said with a sigh. "About the year…3,000 or so, he started looking into the Palantír of Orthanc, and it wasn't long until he connected with the Ithil Stone, which I held."

"So you corrupted him," Aragorn said, interrupting.

"He had been searching for the Ring for over a hundred and fifty years by that point," Sauron said, ignoring Aragorn. "I did offer him an alliance, intending to double-cross him later, of course, but he never quite accepted. He's been playing his own game the whole time."

"But why did he go after the One to begin with?" Glorfindel asked.

"I think…" Sauron began slowly, "that he set out originally from Valinor with the idea to prove himself better than me…and eventually felt the One was the best way to do that."

"He was the only one who volunteered to come," Olórin said quietly. Sauron looked at his brother, reading something in his eyes.

"That makes it even more likely," he answered. "What I don't understand is why he still felt that way–surely my betrayal was enough for to him to feel like he had won our feud."

"Númenor," Radagast said quietly. Olórin nodded.

"You don't understand the reaction there was in the West to Númenor's rebellion," Olórin told Sauron. "There was a…horrified awe…that sprang up in response. While we were shocked and grieved by what Númenor had come to, there was an acknowledgment that it had been a bold and audacious move on your part, and stunningly well pulled off."

"Of course, I drastically underestimated the consequences," Sauron said dryly. Olórin shrugged.

"Yes, but that doesn't change the fact that Ilúvatar Himself intervened, something that never happened in the war against Morgoth," Olórin commented.

"And Curumo's jealousy of you re-ignited in that time," Radagast added.

"What, did he think I had done it just to spite him?" Sauron demanded.

"Probably," Radagast replied dryly. Sauron sighed in exasperation.

"I never thought about him after I left Valinor until he showed up on these shores. I had larger concerns."

"And yet, your feud had not ended for him," Olórin replied.

"So it continues now," Sauron said quietly. "Have you ever thought about it?" he asked the other two Maiar. "Almost all the wars that have been fought so far…have stemmed from us, and the disagreements and wars we fought amongst ourselves long before the Children awoke. It's ironic, considering why we entered Eä to begin with."

"I think it's sad," Radagast commented quietly. "That we did not have enough wisdom to set aside our own quarrels and thus dragged the younger races into them."

"Morgoth's hatred was more than a quarrel, Aiwendil," Sauron said quietly. He shook his head. "I never understood how Lord Manwë could stand it." He looked at Olórin. "When you found out I had fallen…I thought you hated me. And that _hurt_. To know not only that my brother hated me, but was actively trying to destroy everything I held dear…I cannot imagine."

"That's where our own need for estel comes from," Olórin said softly. "Men…need it for the courage to face the night, and to trust that there will be something beyond this world. Dwarves…for the assurance they are not forgotten by their creator. Elves…to overcome the fear that there will be nothing left for them after Arda's end. And us…we need it to trust that all will come out right, that all we have sacrificed and lost will be worth it, and someday we will rejoice without sorrow."

"And can we trust that?" Sauron asked, almost to quiet to be heard, looking down. Olórin reached out and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into his embrace.

"I thought I had lost you forever," Olórin whispered. "I do not believe I have found you again only to loose you." Sauron rested his head on his brother's shoulder and closed his eyes, not caring it was in front of everyone. He stayed like that time, while silence reigned. Then he raised his head, feeling Olórin letting go of him.

"Well, I think we Ainur have caused enough problems for everyone else," he said. "Shall we put an end to it, and let them cause their own problems?" Chuckles greeted that, Radagast laughing outright.

"I like that idea, little brother," Olórin said with a smile. "Do you have a plan on how to do it?"

"Why am I always the one who has to come up with the plans?" Sauron mock complained.

"Because you're good at it," Olórin replied, winking.

"Well, this is harder than simply getting back at you and Eönwë when the two of you would team up to prank me," Sauron said dryly. Olórin laughed, remembering.

"It would have been easier if Saruman had remained at Barad-dûr…except that then I doubt I would have been able to get away had he done so," Sauron mused, his mood changing.

"Perhaps if he were driven out of Orthanc, he would return there?" Legolas asked.

"Like what you did at Dol Guldur?" Sauron asked. "It's possible, though driving him out of Orthanc is nearly as much of a challenge as actually assaulting him there."

"Not necessarily," Olórin said. "All you would have to do is do enough damage to Orthanc that Barad-dûr would become an attractive possibility. It would suit his fancy, and tickle his ever-growing pride, I think, to take up operations there."

"And once there, he'd most likely staff it at least partially with my old servants, which will give us an inside advantage. Also, we'd be closer to Mount Doom."

"Why would your former slaves be willing to help?" Aragorn asked.

"Because most of them are women that I saved from the less than savory appetites of my coarser underlings," Sauron said. "They were always treated very well, and were actually remarkably loyal to me."

"So you think it's possible to actually defeat Saruman if he were in Barad-dûr?" Elrond asked. Sauron nodded.

"It would at least be attemptable, unlike what I see happening if we try to assault him in Orthanc."

"So the question is, how do we make Barad-dûr seem like the better fortress?" Glóin asked.

"That is the question," Sauron agreed dryly. He rubbed his temples. "We would almost certainly have to attack…but we have no army to do so…"

"And it would be leading men pointlessly to their deaths if we tried," Aragorn cut in. Sauron ignored him.

"What about the Ents?" Radagast suddenly said.

"Ents?" Sauron asked.

"Saruman is using Fangorn forest to fuel his war machines," Radagast said. "My lady's children will not take kindly to that treatment of the forest they guard. They would, perhaps, see ridding Isengard of Saruman a worthwhile endeavor."

"They might be able to do it… though not alone," Sauron mused. "Olórin, do you think you could convince the Eagles to help? They are rather fond of you."

"I might be able to, yes," Olórin said. "But what role would they play?"

"They dropped stones and other such items during the Battle of the Five Armies," Glóin commented.

"Yes, but that won't be much good against Orthanc," Olórin said with slight exasperation. "Not unless the rocks would explode."

"Hmm," Sauron mused, an idea beginning to take hold. "Ents…Eagles…Explosives…" He smiled mischievously.

"I haven't seen you grin like that since that you prank you played on Eönwë and me that got us banished from any of Lady Vána's experiments, and ended up with us placed among Lady Yavanna's people 'until we had learned respect for her creations,'" Olórin said dryly. Radagast snickered, remembering the incident.

Sauron's grin simply grew bigger.

"Oh no, Olórin," he said in an innocent tone. "This is going to be much better."


	6. Dealing with Númenóreans

When the Council ended, its participants dispersed, most of those from Rhovanion preparing to return over the mountains to report to their respective peoples. They would travel together for protection, and most of those from Elrond's house left with them to help prepare and provision them. Aragorn stalked off, his face set, to where none knew. Galadriel went to see messages sent to her own people, leaving only the three Maiar, Elrond, and his sons.

Olórin and Radagast were speaking to Elrond over ideas on how to recruit the Eagles and the Ents, respectively. Olórin turned to Sauron to clarify something, and found him staring absently at a section of the carved decoration above the doorway.

"Mairon," Olórin said. "Mairon? Mairon!" That finally got his attention, and he focused on his brother.

"Sorry, what?" he asked.

"What were you thinking about?" Olórin asked instead of answering.

"That you could rig something to dump a substance of your choice on anyone who walked through there very easily," Sauron replied absentmindedly, returning his gaze there.

"Very true," Elladan said.

"We've done it, when we were younger," Elrohir agreed nostalgically.

"Of course, if you hooked it to there, and there, you could theoretically rig two buckets, for example, to drop one after another. Like honey, followed by flour or feathers," Sauron mused. The Twins straighten up, and glanced at each other.

"That...is an excellent idea," Elladan said thoughtfully, while Elrohir lost the battle with a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Must you give them ideas?" Elrond asked wearily. Olórin snorted.

"If you had seen some of the pranks he used to come up with…" he mused.

"I see why you were never caught off guard or out of sorts with my two," Elrond said, mock glaring at his sons, who pulled an affronted look.

"Our 'pranks', as you term them, were useful additions to our life," Elladan sniffed.

"And they served a useful purpose," Elrohir added.

"Is that so?" Elrond said, an arch look on his face. "How?"

"They provide opportunities to practice and implement strategy, force awareness to your surroundings, and develop faster reaction times," Sauron said, when it was obvious the Twins were floundering.

"That is a wonderful excuse," Elrohir said, his impressed look mirrored by his brother.

"It is, isn't it," Sauron mused, chin in his hands, looking smug. "Pity I never could use it on Aulë."

"Not that you ever had trouble coming up with excuses anyway," Olórin snorted. Sauron shrugged.

"Aulë stopped noticing virtually anything I did fairly quickly, so the only times I usually had to come up with excuses was when I got you or Eönwë–or both of you–in trouble. Then it was easy: you started it. There was a distinct advantage in being the youngest."

"You always used that little fact to your advantage–along with anything else you could exploit." Olórin said, rolling his eyes.

"Anything necessary," Sauron said with a smirk, but then the smile faded. "Anything necessary," he repeated in a whisper, eyes darkening. Olórin nudged him gently, concerned. It recalled Sauron to the present, and he smiled at his brother, but the smile was tinged with sadness, and everyone there could tell.

"My lord Elrond?" an Elf in a healer's robes came out onto the porch, concern on his face. "It is the Perian, Bilbo Baggins. Your assistance would be most appreciated, if you have finished here."

"I am coming," Elrond replied, following the healer into the house. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged concerned looks, then along with Radagast, made their excuses, leaving the brothers alone. They wandered inside, Olórin slightly distracted with thoughts of his friend. They found a room near the Hall of Fire that was unoccupied, though a fire was lit. There they settled, Olórin on a chair, Sauron on the floor in front of the fire.

"So why was Bilbo Baggins in the caves under the Misty Mountains?" Sauron finally asked his brother, curiosity evident in his voice. Olórin smiled, remembering the Hobbit who had run out his door without his handkerchief. Bilbo's story was told, Sauron just as engrossed by it as the Hobbit-children who had been Bilbo's main audience.

"He seems like a very remarkable individual," Sauron said when the story was finished. "To give up both the Arkenstone and the Ring…He must have had a will of adamant; a wise and compassionate individual, yet remained humble and self-effacing. Not many are like that."

"No indeed," Olórin said. "Middle-earth will be poorer for his passing."

* * *

Elrond stepped from Bilbo's room. Sorrow and resignation could be seen on his face, if the observer knew what to look for.

"How is he?" a soft voice asked, and Elrond turned his gaze to meet that of his foster-son.

"He will not be with us much longer," Elrond replied quietly. Aragorn bowed his head.

"May I?" he asked, indicating Bilbo's door. Elrond nodded, and Aragorn slipped inside. Elrond moved to a window set in the corridor, looking out over his valley, thinking about mortality, and the change that was ever a part of life on these shores. He was still there when Aragorn slipped back out.

"He wants to see Gandalf," Aragorn told Elrond. "Do you know where he is?"

"Probably with his brother in one of the smaller rooms off the Hall of Fire," Elrond replied. Aragorn's face went hard. Elrond mentally sighed.

"Estel…" he began. Aragorn cut him off, a sign of how upset he was.

"Why did you let him come?" he asked. "Why do you let him stay? After all he has done."

"Yes, he has done terrible things in the past," Elrond acknowledged. "But at the moment, he is on our side. We need him, Estel. Whatever else he is, he is a remarkable strategist. He has already helped us by freeing the Three, something you have directly benefited from. And surely you can see that the image most hold of him is far too simplistic to be real? Like every other rational creature, he is a complex individual, who has reasons for what he has done. Not that he should be excused for his actions, but judgement his deeds is not ours to render."

"There is no punishment harsh enough for what he has done," Aragorn spat, turning to leave.

"Aragorn," Elrond said sternly. The man turned, still slightly rebellious, but caught by the rare use of his birth name. Elrond sighed.

"My son, I know you are grieving and angry. But Saruman is the proper target for your wrath, not Sauron, as paradoxical as that seems. Sauron has too suffered greatly at Saruman's hands."

"Yes," Aragorn muttered sullenly. "He took away all his power and toppled his empire." Elrond sighed again, this time in exasperation.

"Aragorn, Saruman used the Ring to spiritually rape Sauron," Elrond said bluntly, shocking his foster son. "I have touched his fëa…Never before have I encountered a soul in more pain. That includes those who I have not been able to save, who have sailed or faded. How he manages to continue functioning, let alone planning like he has been doing, is beyond my comprehension." Aragorn was stunned, and stared at Elrond in shock.

"But…how?" he finally asked incoherently, unable to articulate what he was trying to ask.

"He is probably the most stubborn individual I've met," Elrond said dryly.

"So he simply refuses to let it hurt him?" Aragorn asked in confusion.

"No, it hurts him deeply," Elrond said. "If you would look at him like a healer, you would see it. But what he refuses to do is quit. He also refuses to let Olórin be hurt: it was after Saruman had defeated him and treated him so horribly that he went to Orthanc to rescue his brother."

"So he's just stubborn?" Aragorn asked. Elrond sighed.

"And, I believe, he has been hurting for so long he has forgotten what it feels like to be whole," the Peredhel said quietly. "He still bears scars both physical and psychological from torment he was put to under Morgoth; he was hurt enough that Galadriel has set aside her hatred of him, and that ought to speak of how deeply that injury runs. Look at him, Aragorn, and set aside your preconceived notions of what you think exists, and you will see the same." Aragorn was silent for a time.

"And if I cannot?" he finally asked quietly. Elrond looked at him closely.

"Then at least acknowledge that his fate is not your decision," he said. "If we fail, then his fate will lie with Saruman, something horrible to contemplate. If, however, we succeed, then both Olórin and Sauron will be returning to Valinor, and his fate will be in the hands of the Valar, where it should be." Aragorn sighed.

"I will try to do as you wish me to do, Adar," he said softly. "Though I cannot promise success there. I have hated him long and long, since I first returned to my people and saw how diminished they were. It has only grown as I have watched their continued decline." He shook his head. "I will go find Gandalf: Bilbo would most likely also benefit from your presence." Elrond gave him a piercing look, then nodded and entered the Hobbit's room. Aragorn closed his eyes for a moment, then went looking for the Maiar.

It did not take him long to find them, as they were Elrond had believed they were. When he relayed Bilbo's request, Olórin rose with alacrity and left for the Hobbit's rooms. Aragorn moved to place an arm on the mantle, staring into the flames.

He felt more than saw Sauron's wary regard. He knew the Maia must have picked up his animosity, and was now on the receiving end of Sauron's assessment of whether or not he was going to continue attacking him. It had an almost feral feel to it that Aragorn had experienced in only a few others. But it seemed the Maia decided he wasn't a threat; or at least not a major one, for Sauron returned his gaze to the flames, crossing his arms on the raised hearth and resting his chin on them.

Freed from the Maia's gaze, Aragorn turned his own on Sauron, trying to do as his foster-father had asked and look at him as a healer would. Weariness was evident in his face and posture, but not to the point of exhaustion. Physically, he simply looked like he needed a good night's sleep. But there was something else that teased on the edge of Aragorn's healer instincts, something fragile, something delicate…

Sauron shifted slightly, and began rubbing his left hand. Aragorn's attention was caught by the stump of the first finger. It looked like it had never been properly cared for; indeed, it looked like it had never been treated at all.

"Is your finger bothering you?" Aragorn asked, trying to make himself sound as nonthreatening and compassionate as possible. Either he didn't succeed, or the shift was too much for the Maia, as Sauron just stared at him with a wary, calculating expression. Aragorn tried again.

"It just looks like it was never cared for," he explained.

"It wasn't," Sauron finally said, holding his hand up to look at it. "Isildur chopped it off–and I do mean that _l_ _iterally_ , I don't think he even bothered to _aim_ , considering he cut halfway through my middle finger as well–and the sudden loss of power caused the fána I had at the time to fail completely. Admittedly, that was a forgone conclusion by that time, I was already mortally wounded.

"Traumatic injuries tend to imprint themselves on the psyche, and since the Ainur have such control over what form we take, we often keep the scars of wounds that weren't cared for–and even some that were. Its why I still have scars I gained in the First Age, despite the fact I've lost my physical form twice in the intervening years. And now, I'm sure I've told you more than you ever wanted to know. The short answer in all that is: no, it was never cared for, and yes, it does bother me at times." Aragorn nodded.

"I'll be right back," he said, leaving Sauron staring after him in bemusement. After a moment, the Maia shrugged, and returned to his previous thoughts, gazing at the fire again. He glanced up when Aragorn entered again, carrying a small jar of ointment.

"Here," he said, sitting beside the Maia. "This helps with the symptoms, though no one seems to know why amputated limbs will still feel sensations."

"I would guess Estë could say," Sauron said dryly, as he hesitantly placed his hand in Aragorn's grasp. The Man snorted softly.

"Probably, but none on these shores will learn it from her," he replied, as he carefully began rubbing the ointment on and around the stump of the missing forefinger, using his own innate power to soothe and heal along with it, though he had no idea if would work on a Maia.

"I see where the saying about the hands of the King comes from," Sauron finally said softly, his voice not nearly as crisp as his wont. Aragorn looked at him. His hair hung loose, falling over his far shoulder as his head was bowed. Eyes closed, he looked surprisingly young–young and vulnerable.

He was vulnerable, Aragorn realized. With most of his power and soul on Saruman's finger, he was dependent on the protection of others to keep from being enslaved by the other Maia. He had already been deeply hurt, and yet had risked being hurt again to save his brother. Elrond was right: Sauron was far more complex than many gave him credit for. Perhaps he could not disregard what the Maia had done, but if Galadriel could set aside her hatred, then so could he. Carefully, Aragorn reached out and pulled the Maia in until his head was resting on the Man's shoulder.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," Aragorn told him softly. Sauron was silent for a long time.

"I learned I had to be," he finally said. "Almost every time in my existence I wasn't, someone would hurt me. Eventually, I learned to hurt back, and continued–until it became hurting someone else so that they couldn't hurt me." He sighed. "That's the whole idea behind the Ring, actually. If I could control...well, everything, then no one could control me; I would never be hurt again."

There was, Aragorn thought, something horribly ironic about that, that Sauron had been so badly hurt by what he had intended to prevent exactly that. Sauron shifted slightly, and his voice took on an odd pleading sound.

"It wasn't like I was planning to hurt everyone else, I was really going to make their lives better. There wouldn't be all the chaos that ends with everyone involved being hurt. Everyone could be happy, everything would be perfect…" He trailed off. "I guess it was just a foolish dream, in the end."

"I think it was a noble ideal, but not one that could be accomplished," Aragorn said. "If we were simply handed our heart's desires, we would soon find they meant nothing to us. We would wish for more and more, seeking to fill the emptiness within with mere things."

Sauron was silent, thinking on what Aragorn had said. They said nothing more, until Olórin came in, grief evident on his face.

"He's gone," he said softly. He sat down next to Sauron, pulling him into his arms.

"He's in a better place now," Aragorn said gently. "He's with Frodo again, Frodo and the rest of his family who have left the bounds of Arda."

"You'll see him again someday," Sauron said certainly. "None know what Ilúvatar's plan is concerning them, but surely you would not come to love them so if there was no reunion in the future." Olórin said nothing, but the grief in his eyes eased slightly. They sat in silence, staring into the fire, as Radagast, Elrond, and Galadriel all slowly drifted into the room, gathering in mutual support and grief. They had lost much, and would lose more before this war was over, but tonight they were together, and while that did not completely assuage the pain, it made it easier to bear.

"Olórin?" Sauron asked suddenly, breaking the silence. "Assuming everything goes as we wish…what are we going to do with Curumo?" Olórin looked at him sharply.

"I assumed we'd be taking him back to Valinor," he said. "What were you thinking?"

"I'm…conflicted," Sauron admitted. "He's so focused on what he wants now, that if we were to destroy the fána he wears now, he would be unlikely to recover. A very large part of me feels that's very fair… and another part thinks of you, and of me, and feels that we should take him back to Valinor, for it would be what I would wish another to do if it were us in that situation, but I don't _like_ either of them, and don't see how I owe them anything, but _still_ …"

"Nyeleccaner?" Olórin cut off his little brother's semi-confusing rant. Sauron nodded.

"Who is Nyeleccaner?" Elrond asked.

"Aulë's chief Maia," Galadriel answered him.

"And Curumo's older brother," Olórin added.

"They have two younger brothers, as well," Radagast further added. Aragorn looked surprised.

"I never thought about Maiarin families," Aragorn said. "I knew about the familial relationships between the Valar, but other than Eönwë and Ilmarë being siblings, as well as Ossë and Uinen being espoused, and of course the two of you, but other than that, I know of no lore of such relationships."

"Probably because they tend to get complicated," Olórin said dryly. "Generally a Maia will have two to four siblings, and a good many are espoused, creating even larger familial networks. On top of that, those Maiar who all serve the same Vala often consider themselves family as well. Possibly the least tangled are Eönwë and Ilmarë: neither are wed, and the only Maiar I know who have only one other sibling."

"Well, there's the two of you…" Radagast said. "No, wait, you have a little sister, don't you?" Aragorn was surprised at the identical, fond, nostalgic smiles that appeared on Olórin and Sauron's faces.

"Yes, Indil," Sauron replied. "We are the only family I know of that split when Eä was formed, but she was so young…she's younger than I am, obviously, and I'm already the fourth youngest here in Eä. She was too young, and she knew it, and stayed in the Timeless Halls…" he sighed, leaning against Olórin. "Seeing now how everything has played out, it would have been better if I had listened to you, Olórin. We should have never left."

"For what it's worth, Mairon, other than losing you, I have no regrets," Olórin said softly. Sauron gave him a wry smile, but true amusement lurked behind part of it.

"I was also speaking on my own account," he admitted. He shook his head. "I truly was too young. Too young to see behind the lies and flattery to the Darkness…oh, why am I trying to lie to myself? I could see what lay hidden. I simply ignored it, for I wanted so desperately for what he was saying to be true."

"You're not the only one who has done that, Mairon," Olórin said gently. "You should know that…the Valar know you've used that often enough yourself." Sauron smiled humorlessly.

"Where do you think I learned it?" he asked. "The Deceiver was once expertly deceived," he added in a mutter so soft Olórin wasn't sure anyone else had heard it. "And by the time I was forced to realize the lies were just that, I couldn't find a way back that wouldn't have horrific consequences for me and everyone I loved."

"And you still believe that the Valar would not show you mercy?" Olórin asked, exasperated. "Even with all that?"

"In the end, Olórin, I made the choice," Sauron replied, meeting his brothers eyes. "I made the choice to give in to Melkor, and betray everything I had once held dear. Maybe I was pressured into it, yes, but that does not change the fact that in the end, I had the choice…Perhaps they would have shown mercy once, but now? After all that I have done?" He shook his head. "There is no salvation for me."

Olórin didn't know how to answer that.


	7. Gathering Forces

"What are you going to do while I'm gone?" Olórin asked Sauron.

"Continue planning. What else?" Sauron said with a wry grin. "Besides, you're not going to be gone that long, are you?"

"It's a good five day journey to the eyries of the Eagles," Olórin pointed out. "And I shall probably need a few days to convince them. I expect to be gone at least a fortnight, barring any unforeseen complications." Sauron stared at him.

"Olórin, you can just think yourself to the eyries, you don't have to walk the whole way," he said in a reasonable tone that held an edge of worry. Olórin suddenly felt foolish.

"I think it will take me some time to no longer think like an incarnate…" he murmured.

"Well, you have been living as one for a couple thousand years. It will probably take more than a few days before you're completely comfortable with all your old abilities," Sauron said, his voice taking on a soothing and reassuring quality.

"I just…" Olórin trailed off for a moment.

"What if I forget at a crucial moment, when I need to be who I was, not who I became? What if I doom Middle-earth for it?" he finally finished, the uncertain fear in his voice something he would only let his brother see. Sauron embraced him.

"You will not, Olórin," he said, certainty in his voice. "Because I know you, and I know that when those you care about are threatened, you react with all of your strength. And if that strength is perhaps more than you remember? It will hardly be a bad thing." Olórin half-smiled, and buried his face in Sauron's dark hair.

"I've missed you, Mairon," he murmured. "So much."

"I've missed you too, Olórin," Sauron replied. "Ever since I left, the thing I wanted most was to come home—I could just never see away to."

"You will, this time, Mairon," Olórin said, the certainly in his voice matching the earlier strength of his brother's.

"Do you really believe so, Olórin?" Sauron asked, the vulnerability in his voice something he would only willingly show to his brother.

"Yes, Mairon, I do," Olórin responded. "Because I refuse to believe that Ilúvatar would be so cruel as to let me find you again only to loose you. Though all the pain, I have found you. A second chance—for both of us." Sauron was silent for a long moment.

"I cannot see it the way you do," he said finally. "But with your hope, I will hope."

"Then I shall be strong for you, and you will be strong for me, and with that strength, who shall be able to stand against us?" Olórin said with surprising serenity.

"Well," Sauron responded, a strong edge of suppressed laugher in his voice. "Hopefully not Curumo." Olórin couldn't help but snort at that.

"Indeed," he said as soon as he could speak without dissolving into laughter. Sauron grinned at him.

"Well, Olórin, you should probably go put your allegiance to work, and convince Gwaihir that he should risk his people in a probably hopeless attack on the virtually impregnable fortress held by the fallen Wizard based on the plan created by the disposed Dark Lord." Olórin lost the battle with his laugher.

"Forgive me if I don't phrase it like that!" he snorted.

"Probably better if you don't," Sauron agreed complacently. "Hopefully Aiwendil's having an easier time of it."

"The Ents have good reason to fight, with Curumo right on their doorstep," Olórin pointed out. "And old Treebeard is wise enough to know what we are trying is his people's only hope. They will aid us."

"Good," Sauron muttered. "I _might_ be able to make this work without the Eagles. If we can't get the Ents, we're sunk. And drowning is quite painful."

"I'll take your word on it. And I'll go get you the Eagles, so that we can…float?" Sauron gave his older brother a look.

"Why don't you leave the nautical metaphors to me," he said dryly.

"Alright," Olórin said, feeling a little sheepish. He wanted to say more, to delay his departure, but there was really nothing more to say. So he simply grabbed his little brother in a fierce hug.

"Be well, Mairon," he whispered. "If you need me, let Elrond or Galadriel know. I'll come straight back."

"I'll be fine, Olórin," Sauron reassured him. "You go get me those Eagles, and I'll do my best to make sure everything will be fine."

"I know you will," Olórin murmured. Then with a deep breath, he straightened up, let Sauron go, and thought himself to the East.

Sauron stayed there a moment, head bowed, surprised at the loss he felt when his brother left, planned and temporary though it was. Then he straightened his shoulders, pulled his head up, and locked those emotions away where they could not hinder him. He had a war to plan.

"Because no one hurts my brother and gets away with it," he growled as he turned, intent on finding out if Elrond had a large map of Middle-earth.

* * *

Olórin reasonably planned his destination a small distance away from the Eagle's Eyrie, and once there, shifted back to the form he had worn as Gandalf, old and gray, but still unwithered. It did not take much journeying before he was aware of a large head with keen eyes watching him intently from above.

"Greetings!" he called to the Eagle. "I am Gandalf the Grey. I have words I would speak with Gwaihir the Wind-lord, if he would speak to me." The Eagle's intense gaze did not shift for a moment; then the proud bird nodded his head.

"I will ask him if he will," the Eagle answered, and took flight. It did not take long before Gwaihir himself landed where the Eagle sentry had been perched.

"Well met, Gandalf," Gwaihir said. "We had been informed you were a captive of the fallen wizard. I rejoice to see you free."

"I thank you, though I was indeed captured by Saruman, and the tale of my deliverance is a long and surprising one," Gandalf replied. "Yet by your indulgence, I would shorten it, for the situation is dire that all of Middle-earth has found itself in."

"Indeed, it is so," Gwaihir answered. "I assume you have need of the help of me and my people, then, since there would be no time for a social visit."

"Yes, that is true," Gandalf admitted. "Tell me, Gwaihir, how much do you know of who the Wizards are? Do you know of our history?" The Eagle tilted his head to the side.

"I know that you and your fellows arrived out of the West, or so we remember in our tales. It is said that our Lord sent the Wizards to confront the Shadow in the East."

"That is true," Gandalf said, and shifted his form back to that of Olórin. "Indeed, my friend, we share the same Lord, who asked me long ago to come to these shores. I was sent to stand against Sauron," Olórin was surprised at how difficult it was to name his brother that now, "But now find myself standing against one who was sent to do the same. Those who have stood long against the darkness have not given in, though our foe has changed, and we have the beginnings of a plan to dethrone him. Will you aid us, Gwaihir? For I fear that unless all those who would set themselves against darkness and domination join together, we shall all fall in the face of this unexpected betrayal."

Gwaihir fluffed his feathers, head swiveling to stare west. For a long moment, he gazed unblinking, then returned his focus to the Maia.

"Yes, we shall aid you," he answered. "For the value we place on our allegiance of old to the Lords of the West, and for the aid you yourself have given our people. What need do you have of us?" Olórin placed a hand over his heart and bowed.

"You honor me, Gwaihir," he said softly. He straighten up and couldn't quite suppress an impish smile.

"This is what we have planned so far…"

* * *

Radagast paused for a moment at the side of the Entwash and ran a hand over his face. His little feathered friends had let him know the location of Treebeard, but it was still a long hike into the very depths of Fangorn forest to find the old Ent. He wished he had more time simply to explore this forest; it was so very old. He had not come here before, simply because there were so many other places that needed his help, and he knew that the Ents who dwelt here were more than capable of doing what was needed. And speaking of the Ents…A small bird flew to him, perching on his shoulder, and chirped that the old Ent was just ahead.

"Thank you, my friend," Radagast replied, stroking the small feathered head. He went in the way indicated, following the directions of the bird, until he caught sight of what looked like an old stump with only two branches remaining to it. But he knew an Ent when he saw one, and he had no doubt the Ent had seen him—and his feathered helper.

"Hello!" Radagast called, as the bird flew to perch in a nearby tree. "Are you Fangorn?" The old Ent rumbled, and stirred.

"I have been called that," he answered. "Have you been seeking me?"

"I have," Radagast answered. "I am Radagast the Brown. I am here in an attempt to both aid you and ask your aid in the matter of Isengard."

Treebeard's keen eyes slowly travelled over him.

"Hmm, don't be hasty, that's what I always say," he rumbled. "Yet we have enough trouble from one wizard. Why is it that I should deal with another?" Radagast took a large breath.

"Radagast is the name I am known by now, but it was not always so," he said. "Once I was called Aiwendil, in the uttermost west. I serve Lady Yavanna, and was asked to come to these shores not only to stand against Sauron, but to help and heal her beloved creations. Saruman will destroy them all, starting with your forest if he is not stopped. Will you not aid me in ridding Middle-earth of this threat, that your forest, and all other things that are green and growing, and all those who live from their bounty, may continue in peace?"

Treebeard said nothing for a long, long time, but that did not bother the wizard, who knew that this decision was a large one, and he had no desire to hurry the old Ent.

"Hoom, hoom, that is quite the speech, Aiwendil," he rumbled. "And the points you raise are valid. Saruman has despoiled much of our forest already. Yet he is a formidable foe. Can he even be defeated? Is not the storm sometimes too much, even for the strongest of trees?"

"And which would be better, to hide beneath the eaves of the forest until the fire comes at last, or at least try to quench it before it destroys all that is green and good?" Radagast challenged. "But there are those who hold out hope for the later, and who believe that such a path still has the chance of success."

"And who are those who do so?" Treebeard asked.

"The Lord and Lady of Lóthlorien do so, as does Elrond Half-elven of Rivendell, and their peoples. Gandalf the Grey, another of my order, remains true and fights along side. He has gone to seek the aid of the Great Eagles. And I shall not deceive you, we have gained a strange ally in Sauron himself."

"Hoom, indeed," Treebeard said. "And do you trust the Deceiver?"

"Not fully," Radagast said with a half-smile. "That would be foolish, I know. But in this matter, I do trust that he has an even large stake in this fight than we do. I believe that he is sincere in his desire to see Saruman stopped. As well, he has surrounded himself with those who are strong enough to stop him, should the need arise. I would not say he is no threat, but I believe that what he can offer to us outweighs the risk he poses."

"Hoom, well, it seems you have at least thought about this thoroughly." Treebeard allowed. "What is it you would wish of me?"

"We seek to drive Saruman from Orthanc," Radagast said. "We ask that you aid us in that attack."

"That is a large matter," Treebeard replied gravely. "And a decision that cannot be made in haste. Yet I agree with you, Aiwendil, that it is better to seek to end this menace to protect all that grows green and fair, even if it would be the last march of the Ents. I will speak to my people, and we will call an Entmoot. This matter is more than one Ent can decide alone."

"Of course, Fangorn," Radagast replied. "I am grateful for your aid."

"I will lead you to one of my houses nearby," Fangorn said. "You may rest there, while I call my people."

"Thank you," Radagast said with a smile.

* * *

"Well, you're back faster than I thought," Sauron commented. "I hope that it's not bad news."

"No, Gwaihir has said he will aid us. He took far less convincing than I thought he would, though," Olórin answered. "But it will be some time before we hear from Radagast. How is the planning going?"

"Fairly well, actually," Sauron answered. "Thankfully, Elrond has a good map of the area. There is a small promontory high on Methedras that will serve to base our attacks from. You and I will be there, and the Eagles can fly from there. The Ents, of course, will have to be based closer. It will be important to coordinate it properly, but I think we might just actually be able to pull it off."

"That's always a good thing," Olórin laughed.

"Indeed," Sauron replied, his smile far more predatory than his older brother's.


	8. Chaos

It was a sight that would have made any traveler in Middle-earth take another look. Five people stood in a clearing—though 'people' was a subjective term, since one was an Eagle, one was an Ent, and three were Maiar. There were arranged in a loose semi-circle, watching as Sauron, who was in the center of the line, spread out a map on a convenient rock. Olórin was on his right, Gwaihir beyond him. Radagast was on his left, with Treebeard beside him.

"So it's not too complicated a plan, which is a good thing, since the more complicated it is, the more that can go wrong," Sauron said, pushing a strand of hair that had escaped his loose ponytail behind his ear. "The goal in all this is took look like we make a mistake in allowing Curumo to escape. That should goad him into doing just that, if he thinks he's taking advantage of us. So in the beginning, the bombardment needs to be pretty even. In fact, we need to make sure that the Eastern walls are mostly rubble.

"The Eagles will start, dropping the explosives on the walls, and anything within them that looks like a catapult. If they could get some of those shafts he's drilled in the plane, that would be excellent as well, but that's secondary. The main goal is to clear the walls, and defend the Ents. They'll be doing most of the work on the walls.

"At first, we'll want an even ring around Isengard. But then, the Ents on the west should break in, and begin to tear up the inner walls of the ring of Isengard, and those on the east should come join them, going around the outer walls. It _has_ to look like an oversight on our part, and not like it's planned. If we're causing enough damage, Curumo should take the bait and head east. Any questions?"

"What if, hoom, Saruman does not flee like we hope?" Treebeard rumbled. Sauron shrugged.

"Then we keep causing damage," he replied. "If the defense becomes too heavy for us, we retreat to the eves of Fangorn forest with the hurons. We can hold them there unless Curumo comes himself, something I sincerely doubt he would do. Eventually, he's going to get tired of us harrying him, and if we cut his supply lines? Then he'll have to leave."

"Doesn't Orthanc have its own croplands around it?" Radagast asked.

"Yes, but we can drop explosives on it. It's rather hard to grow anything in a siege unless he can defend his walls. We can get over them," Sauron pointed out.

"And if he builds things to attack us in the sky?" Gwaihir asked.

"Then we'll figure something out," Sauron said. "I really don't think it will take more than one decently damaging attack to get him to move. Mordor really is much defensible location: and much larger. We're playing to his pride more than practicality."

"Will he take the bait, then, is the question," Radagast murmured.

"Only one way to find out," Sauron said. "This isn't quite as tight as my usual plans. I've had a couple weeks to think about this, not a couple hundred years."

"It will work," Olórin confidently.

"Know something we don't?" Sauron said with a small smile.

"No," Olórin replied. "But we must win, so we shall. Gwaihir, Treebeard, are your peoples ready?"

"To rid our forests of this menace? Hoom, yes, the Ents are ready," Treebeard replied sonorously.

"We have not forgotten our allegiance," Gwaihir said, feathers fluffing fiercely. "We stand by you."

"Well then," Olórin replied. "No sense waiting. It's time to go back on the offensive…"

* * *

It was inadvisable that Sauron go anywhere near Curumo, and he was frankly terrified at the idea of Olórin going anywhere near him either. Since they were the only two who knew how to make the explosives they used in their fireworks, Sauron gave himself and his brother that job, well out of Curumo's range, something he was very thankful for. Radagast was holding the defensive line with the hurons in case anything went wrong, and Gwaihir and Treebeard were leading the offensive, though Treebeard hadn't quite moved fully into position yet. The canny old Ent was waiting for Gwaihir and the Eagles to do a bit more damage first.

"He doesn't seem to have anything to defend against the Eagles," Olórin commented. "Other than regular archers. But they're rather busy with all the explosions."

"Treebeard still needs to draw in soon, or Curumo will get his people organized, and they'll get some of the Eagles. They're the most exposed," Sauron commented.

"He's moving in now," Olórin said, glancing up from the explosive he was preparing for a moment. "I'd forgotten how much damage the Ents can do."

"Lady Yavanna is a very powerful Valië," Sauron pointed out with a shrug. "And she put a good deal what makes her powerful into them."

"True," Olórin said. "I believe Curumo will be rueing the day he didn't take Aiwendil seriously." Sauron snorted.

"He should have remembered what kind of temper Yavanna herself can have before he started this whole thing. It's not like he wasn't ever around her."

"Well, the Valar haven't been intervening directly in the affairs of Middle-earth," Olórin pointed out. "He probably felt he didn't need to worry."

"Then he's really a fool," Sauron said. "He won't win. Ilúvatar won't allow it. I learned that the hard way." Olórin shot his brother a startled look.

"You kept going after Númenor—" he started.

"But I knew I would never win," Sauron interrupted. "I was simply delaying the inevitable." Olórin looked thoughtful and sad at that, and Sauron took a look at Isengard to take his mind off of it. He smirked at his took it in. Orthanc might be home to the Wizard and fallen Maia who currently had his Ring, but despite all the advantages Curumo held, Isengard was looking fairly torn up.

"I must remember thank Radagast for the idea of the Ents," he commented to his brother. Olórin hummed his agreement, looking up from his thoughts.

"You know, for someone who doesn't like chaos, I am remarkably good at creating it," Sauron mused.

"That you are, little brother. That you are." Olórin said with a grin, shaking off his own dark thoughts. "I must say, it it satisfying. Especially after being held prisoner here." Sauron nodded his own fervent agreement. Then his eyes narrowed as he took in what was going on below.

"Olórin, tell Treebeard to move his forces off the east side," he said. "They're pretty well destroyed, and if they're not careful, they'll get in there first. They need to get in the west _now_." Olórin nodded, his face going blank with concentration as he contacted Treebeard mentally. If the Ents broke through on the East, not the West, they would have serious problems. But if they held off too much and Curumo realized something was going on, it would be even worse…

The next few minutes were tense for the two Maiar, as they struggled to continue making enough explosives for the Eagles while still making sure everything was going well down below. Sauron gave orders to Olórin, who relayed them to Treebeard. One more musical Hoom was unlikely to be heard over the calls the Ents were already making.

"Good thing that Curumo never reinforced those walls with the power of the One," Sauron commented to Olórin as they Ents finally broke through.

"Yes, that could have been disastrous," Olórin said soberly. "Do we need to stop the Eagles?"

"Yes," Sauron replied somewhat absently. "They're too likely to hit the Ents now. How many were shot?"

"Eleven," Olórin said soberly. "Three managed to make it back out of Isengard, and Aiwendil says two should heal with time. The others…went down within the ring."

 _And will never come back out_ , Sauron finished silently. He nodded. "Well, hopefully, that will be the extent of their losses…" Suddenly a shudder rang through the ground, and Sauron swayed, nearly falling before Olórin caught him.

"Are you alright?" the older Maia asked in concern. Sauron nodded.

"The shield held…he's doing something with the One," he said in a hazy voice. Olórin whipped back around towards Orthanc, sinking to his knees to better hold his little brother. A small group burst from the doors of the tower, all mounted on Wargs. Curumo was obviously with them, for he was blasting rubble and Ents out of their way. Every time he loosed a destructive blast with the power of the One, Sauron flinched in Olórin's arms. Olórin tightened his grip, bitting his lips. Curumo was hurting so many right now, and there was nothing he could do…

And then the small group was through the eastern walls, and still running. An eerie hush fell over the battlefield. Then Treebeard gave a musical Hoom Hoom, and summoned the surviving Ents to his side. Sauron looked up, eyes still hazy.

"He's gone?" The younger Maia queried. Olórin nodded.

"He's gone," he replied. "…East." Sauron grinned, and pulled himself up.

"Good," he said, beginning to sound a bit more like himself. Then he looked over the ring of Isengard, and his face tightened.

"The Ents took heavy losses," he commented quietly. Olórin nodded. Sauron sighed.

"And we still have that army in Dunland to deal with…"

"I think the hurons should be able to take care of it, with out any more losses on the part of the Ents," Olórin said quietly. Sauron nodded, stifling a yawn.

"Have Treebeard just flood the entire plain," he said. "The Eagles can guard it, and then we can deal with it later."

"That's a good plan," Olórin responded. "I'll tell him. Then he, Gwaihir, Radagast, and I can coordinate the rest. I'm taking you back to Rivendell, and having Elrond take a look at that shield he constructed."

"But," Sauron started to protest with a frown. Olórin cut him off.

"You're exhausted, Mairon," he said. "We've won the day here. You need to rest. It's not like we can do anything until we know if Curumo really has settled into Mordor." Sauron nodded reluctantly.

"Back to doing nothing," he muttered. Olórin shook his head.

"Back to recovering, and planning," he corrected. "Because if Curumo takes the bait like we hope…or even if he doesn't…we have to be ready for what comes next." Sauron sighed, but nodded. He really didn't have any space to argue, Olórin thought with exasperation. His eyes were already sliding shut.

Getting a better hold on his little brother, Olórin stood and after a quick thought to Radagast, Treebeard, and Gwaihir letting them know what he was doing, Olórin took himself and his little brother back to Rivendell. Elrond and Galadriel were aware of their arrival, thanks to Vilya and Nenya, and hurried out to greet them and Olórin headed inside.

"Is he alright?" Elrond asked, looking at Sauron, who was either asleep or nearly there. Olórin nodded.

"I think so," he said. "He said the shield held, but Curumo was using the One, and it affected him."

"Did things not go as planned, then?" Galadriel asked with some concern.

"No, Curumo has fled east, like we hoped," Olórin reassured her. "His use of the One was to cover his own retreat." Both Elves sighed in relief.

"Good," Elrond murmured. "If nothing else, we shall have a safer path to the Havens if the worst comes."

"And a better hope of success, if Sauron is right," Galadriel added. "Well, I doubt I shall be of any more use here, so I will go chaperone your children, Elrond." Elrond snorted.

"Aren't you a bit late for that?" he asked, smile only slightly tinged with sadness.

"Perhaps," Galadriel said, her smile compassionate. "But if nothing else, Elrond, she will know joy." Elrond took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"I know," he admitted. "That is the only reason I can approve." With another gentle smile, Galadriel left as the rest of the party reached the hallway where Olórin and Sauron's chambers were. Once in Sauron's rooms, Olórin lowered his little brother onto his bed with a thankful groan. His little brother was utterly limp in sleep, making him an awkward burden to carry. The older Maia straighten up, moving closer to the head of the bed to give Elrond space to work, as the Peredhel laid a hand on Sauron's chest.

Olórin stroked his little brother's hair, reluctant to leave. He knew he needed to get back to help, but he didn't want Sauron to grow distressed at his absence. Elrond understood what was going through his head, and gave Olórin and understanding smile.

"I'll stay with him," he promised. "And if he grows distressed at all, I will let you know through the Rings." Olórin sighed.

"Thank you, Elrond," he said quietly. "You have helped us both, so much."

"It has been a pleasure," Elrond replied firmly. "Now, the sooner you go, the sooner you can come back. Because I doubt I can convince Mairon to stay here once he awakens. I am sure he will try to sneak out to that beast of his to get back to your side." Olórin couldn't help but chuckle.

"Then I shall go, in an endeavor to return before you are faced with such a calamity," he replied grandly. Elrond sniffed.

"That would be greatly appreciated," he replied with mock hauteur. Olórin bowed with exaggerated deference, and thought himself back to Orthanc with laughter on his lips. At least, the Maia thought to himself, we can still laugh.


	9. The Fires of Mount Doom

Aragorn exhaled softly, exchanging glances with the small Dúnedain escort around him. Minas Tirith loomed in the foreground, the re-built Rammas Echor around her.

"Well, here we are," he said to no one in particular. "Now to hope Denethor will be willing to listen to me," he muttered to himself. Quietly, he gave the order for his standard to be unfurled, and felt a momentary pang: it should have been Halbarad who held that flag. Now that task fell to his son. Schooling his expression, he raised a hand, and the group cantered the rest of the distance to the Rammas Echor. They pulled up at the Northern Gate, hearing the challenge of the guards there.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, sixteenth chieftain of the Dúnedain of the North, Heir of Valandil, Isildur, and Elendil," It felt odd to be openly proclaiming who he was, but there was no need for secrecy now. "I come with tidings for the Steward of Gondor pertaining to the new threat in the East."

The men who manned the gate were stunned, but quickly a rider was sent to the City, and it wasn't long until the Northern Dúnedain were being escorted to the City. They left their horses in the Sixth Circle, and continued on to the Citadel. There Aragorn received his first shock: it was not Denethor who stood there to receive them, but a younger Man, who looked to be his son, along with a woman with the golden hair of the Rohirrim.

"Greetings, Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the Man said. "I am Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor, and this is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, Heir to the house of Eorl," he introduced them with a courteous nod of the head, which Aragorn returned.

"The messengers indicated that you had tidings of the fallen Wizard who has taken up residence in the Dark Lord's old lair?" Faramir asked politely.

"I do," Aragorn replied. "However, under an open sky is not the best place to discuss it." Faramir smiled.

"No, that it is not," he said. "Be welcome, and you and your men may refresh yourselves, and then we shall speak of it."

"Your hospitality is most welcome," Aragorn told him sincerely. They were quickly led to well appointed rooms in the Citadel, it was only a half mark later Aragorn was sitting in conference with Faramir and Éowyn, speaking of what had occurred in Middle-earth.

Aragorn learned that Saruman had killed Théoden King, his son and heir Théodred, as well as nephew Éomer, leaving Éowyn the sole remnant of the house of Eorl. Boromir had been heading North to seek an answer to a riddling dream, but had never been heard from again, and Faramir suspected he too had been killed by Saruman. Denethor, upon learning of Saruman's defeat of Sauron, had committed suicide in despair, leaving his second son Steward.

But not everything was dark: for despite their losses, Faramir and Éowyn found themselves in love, and planned to wed, combining and preserving both their great houses. After Aragorn had congratulated them both, the talk turned to what had brought him to Minas Tirith, and the long tale of what had occurred in the North was told. Multiple times, both Faramir and Éowyn's expressions expressed shock and surprise, and the unforeseen twists of the story were told, most encompassed in the figure of a dark-haired Maia.

"It is quite the incredible tale you tell," Faramir said softly when Aragorn was finished. The older Man smiled.

"If I had not lived it, I would find it hard to believe myself," he said. "But Gondor has long stood against her foe; can she still stand now, though the foe has changed?"

"That she can," Faramir said resolutely. "What have you need of?"

"For now, a place to stage our operations, and to plan. Sauron does have the beginnings of a plan, but much of it will depend on getting the inside information he believes he can. If all goes well, the only thing we should be asking for in terms of men would be a few scouts."

"And if they go wrong, we will be facing an army led by one who commands the power of the One Ring," Éowyn pointed out. Aragorn nodded.

"There will be no escape should that come to pass," he said softly. "For the Elves, perhaps…but not for us."

"Then let us hope that Sauron's plan will work," Faramir said, in a tone of voice that made it clear he saw the irony in that statement.

"He is one of the best strategists in Arda," Aragorn pointed out. "And as it is his Ring, he has just as much stake in this as we do. I do not believe I would trust him if that were not the case."

The talk then turned into logistical needs for the arrival of the group that would be following in a few days, and Aragorn felt a surge of relief. Faramir would aid them, and there was hope they might just be able to succeed in this mad venture after all.

Three days later, a group of Elves and two Maiar clattered through the Great Gate of Minas Tirith, which was instantly closed behind them. Aragorn, Faramir, and Éowyn were on hand to greet them.

Mounted on proud, beautiful horses, the Elves were a stunning sight for those who had never before seen the fair folk. Placing faces with the names Aragorn had given him, Faramir knew without a doubt he was in the presence of legends.

But it was the two tallest of the group that caught the eye. Fair even beyond the measure of the Elves, they were striking. The tallest had white blond hair and deep purple eyes, and Faramir instinctively recognized him as Mithrandir, or Olórin he supposed he should call him. The old list of names the Wizard had once given him made more sense now: ' _Olórin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten._ ' Part of Faramir was still in shock that the Wizard he had befriended was a Maia.

But was the other who drew Faramir's attention. He had a darker aura than the rest, accentuated by his unrelieved black clothing, and long black hair. But his eyes were brilliant gold, and they swept the group with a wary, watchful air. He reminded Faramir of a wild creature, deciding whether he was going to attack or bolt. But of course, the Maia did neither, and quickly the whole group was heading up towards the level of the Citadel. It did not escape Faramir's attention that Sauron had been placed in the middle of the group.

Faramir quickly realized that that was not simply a coincidence. Those who had travelled to Minas Tirith were extremely protective of the younger Maia, especially Olórin. His watchful care of Sauron reminded the young Steward of his own brother, now lost to him. He found himself hoping that this set of brothers would not be torn apart.

It was an odd realization, but one he became more set in the longer the Elves and Maiar stayed in Minas Tirith. Faramir had heard their story, but watching them interact, he could believe that Sauron had risked Saruman's wrath to rescue Olórin. But he could not spend much time observing them, between planning with Aragorn on how to restore Gondor and Arnor, and what to do about Rohan, he was kept busy.

He did have time to speak to Éowyn, as they dined together at least once every day. He found with amusement that had struck up an odd friendship with the Lady Galadriel.

"She told me she was once quite like me," Éowyn told him one day. "She too, trained with weapons when she was younger, and wished to win high renown and honor in the world." Her face clouded a bit.

"She also knows what it is to loose her family," she went on, softer. "She lost all three of her brothers in the First Age. It is good to have someone who understands. I know you do, but there are differences between men and women, my love, and it is nice to talk to another woman about this!"

"I do not begrudge you at all for finding solace in your friendship with the Lady," Faramir assured her. "I am glad you were able to meet her." Éowyn laughed.

"I am too," she assured her betrothed. "For my mother told me that if I did not learn to settle down some, I should never become a great lady. Now I have met one who is indeed—even if she is an Elf!" Faramir chuckled at that.

"And I am glad of that, for I love my white lady dearly, and would have her remain herself!" he said.

"A wild barbarian from the North?" she asked in amusement.

"Never that, Éowyn," Faramir murmured.

This conversation replayed in Faramir's mind as he headed down a little used corridor in the Citadel, on his was to meet with yet another group of lords, when Faramir came around a corner and stopped abruptly. On a small bench set against a wall between two pillars, were the two Maiar.

Olórin's attention was held by the book he had in his lap, the pages of which he absently turned with his left hand. His right was wrapped around Sauron, who was asleep on his shoulder. The younger Maia had his legs pulled up on the bench, taking up all the remaining room. A small, slightly painful smile tugged at Faramir's mouth, and he quietly turned and left, leaving the brothers to themselves.

It was not long after Faramir left that Sauron stirred. Olórin carefully marked his place in his book and set it aside, tightening his grip on his brother as Sauron returned to awareness.

"Awake?" Olórin asked gently. Sauron nodded, yawned, and stood to stretch before sitting back down.

"I think I have it figured out now," Sauron said as if he were simply continuing a conversation.

"Have what figured out?" Olórin asked.

"What to do with Saruman," Sauron replied.

"Ah," Olórin said, on the same page as his brother now.

"He's had enough time to re-staff Barad-dûr, and the scouts are fairly certain he's done so with my people. He's used the Nazgûl to block the Morgul pass, so the only way in is for you to take us. So it will be best if we keep it small: just you and me." Olórin frowned slightly at that, but said nothing, though he rose and began to pace.

"Once we're in, my people can get us close to Saruman. I'll let him 'accidentally' see me, and he'll chase me." Olórin turned to Sauron, shock and anger on his face. But Sauron simply continued.

"You'll come up behind him in some nondescript form, ambush him, and take him to the Sammath Naur. Once there, you can get rid of the Ring–I suggest simply taking his whole hand–and then you take him to Valinor. After that, you can return for me. Saruman should be so blinded by his hatred for me, that he shouldn't have time to use the Ring against you. And I should be fine, with this form and the shield Elrond and Galadriel created."

"You cannot ask me to accept you playing bait," Olórin said angrily, ignoring Sauron's ending platitudes. Sauron didn't blink.

"I cannot ask anyone else to do so," he said calmly. "This is, ultimately, my fault. I will not allow anyone else to take this risk." Olórin grabbed his wrists.

"He will hurt you," he said certainly.

"He will if he catches me," Sauron replied. "But that's true for anyone. I don't intend to get caught."

"A lot of things 'you didn't intend' still happened, Mairon," Olórin snarled.

"Olórin, there is no one else," Sauron said intently. "He can't know about you, and there is no one else he would chase, forgetting all else." Olórin still looked rebellious, but Sauron pressed on, not letting him speak.

"Please, Olórin," he said softly. "Let me redeem myself, in my eyes if in no one else's. Let me do this." Olórin sighed, fight leaving him.

"Alright, little brother," he whispered. "Just please, please don't do anything foolish."

"I'll try," Sauron smiled. "Let's go." "Now?" Olórin asked in shock.

"No better time," Sauron replied. "If we tell anyone else, they'll argue with it, wanting to be involved. I'm ready to end this."

"I am as well," Olórin said firmly. "You are right, it is time to end this."

 _One way or another_ , Sauron finished silently.

* * *

"Are you sure this will work?" Olórin hissed quietly, in the guise of an unremarkable Haradrim man.

"No," replied Sauron, who hadn't changed form, as he was incapable of doing so. "This always was the hardest part of the plan…" He trailed off as a Haradrim woman exited a door and caught sight of them, her eyes widening. Sauron's did as well, though for a different reason.

"Bayat!" he called softly. "Bayat!" Shocked surprise flitted across the woman's face, then she hurried over.

"My lord?" she asked, stunned. "What are you doing here? And who?" she looked in surprise at Olórin.

"My brother," Sauron told her. "Long story."

"My lord, if the Wizard finds you here…" Bayat began worriedly.

"He won't," Sauron assured her. "Or, well, he will, but it's part of the plan."

"What plan?" Bayat asked, amusement beginning to replace panic and shock on her face.

"The plan where my brother and I overthrow the arrogant fool who decided to set himself up as Middle-earth's next overlord," Sauron said with a grin. Then he sobered. "How are you, Bayat? The others? I did not expect you to be here."

"Other than those killed when Saruman first came, most are fine. Some of the newer servants, or those who believed they still had family members left to try to find them. The rest are still here, though none remain in the higher positions. The Wizard brought his own staff for that. But he did not have enough to run all of Barad-dûr. I have been demoted to scullery maid, and the woman who now runs things is a fool, but other than that…" Sauron smiled fondly at at the end of her speech.

"I doubt anyone else could run things as well as you did," he said, making the woman blush. "Bayat was…well, she was technically my head cook, but she was really my chatelaine in practice," Sauron explained to Olórin. "Bayat, do you think you could get us inside and up to Saruman's quarters undetected?"

"Getting in will not be a problem," the woman said confidently. "Though getting to Saruman might be. He allows no one who served you to approach him. I shall do my best. Follow me."

For Olórin, it was an eye-opening experience as Bayat led them through Barad-dûr, hissing at various women, who quickly rushed to do her bidding. It was obvious she had once unofficially ruled here, and she took advantage of everything she still had at her disposal. With her help, and the help she recruited, they quickly climbed higher in the tower, finally coming to the levels where Sauron's people were not allowed.

Privately, Olórin thought Saruman had good reason to be cautious of those who had served his little brother, for all those he had met seemed fiercely loyal to their lord. Sauron had not over-exaggerated their willingness to help. He couldn't help but smile at this unexpected glimpse into his brother's domestic life. Suddenly, Bayat swore, jolting Olórin out of his thoughts.

"Guards coming," she hissed. "Quickly, hide in here. I shall attempt to sent them away."

She shooed them through a door, closing it quickly, before the rough voices of the guards hailed her.

"Hey, what are you doing here!" one coarsely demanded.

"I was ordered to…" Bayat sounded confused and uncertain, and Olórin had to applaud her acting skills.

"You're one of Sauron's little girls," the other voice spoke up. "You're not suppose to be this high. Are you lost, little girl?"

"No, I know I am not, but I was ordered to by one of your people; I assumed…"

"Assumptions are dangerous things, little girl," the second voice answered.

"I think she's lying," the first voice said. "That, or whoever sent her wanted her gone. Either way, the punishment's the same." There was a horrible noise of metal and woman's pained cry, and Olórin had to grab Sauron has he instinctively lunged for the door.

"We'll have to go get someone to clean up this mess now," the second voice grumbled, glee in his voice.

"Then go do so," the first voice said. "I will return to where we are suppose to be stationed.

"Yes sir," the second voice said sullenly. When they were gone, Olórin let go of Sauron, who rushed out into the hall towards the crumpled figure on the floor, and collapsed to his knees beside her.

"Bayat?" Sauron asked in a soft voice, his eyes wide with distress. "Bayat?" The woman opened her eyes and smiled softly.

"It is alright," she said with difficulty. "I do not fear to die…and I shall die for a good cause. It was more than they gave Ashir."

"Oh," Sauron said. Then comprehension dawned in his eyes. "Oh. Were you…I mean, did he…"

"He had not spoken to me," Bayat said. "But I loved him. And now I shall join him…"

"Yes, you will," Sauron said gently, running his hand down the side of her face. "Close your eyes…that's it. You'll see him soon…" It was not long before the woman's labored breathing ceased. Sauron squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment and then stood.

"She always mothered me," he said softly, still staring at her still form. "And I let her, though I never knew why…Ashir was the head of my personal guard…I never realized she loved him…They deserved more than this…they all did…" Sauron turned to look down the corridor, his eyes and face hardening. "Enough of this," he growled, and stalked off, ignoring Olórin's frantic cautionings.

After a few moments indecision, Olórin decided that the original plan was completely shot, and he gave in to his urgent feeling that he should follow his brother. He was halfway down to the next level when he realized just how right he had been.

"Curumo!" Sauron's voice rang out clearly. "Come out, Curumo! I'm done playing games."

It was as if he had stirred an anthill. Instantly there was running, and shouting, and as he had apparently desired, Saruman himself appeared. Olórin, watching from a distance, wondering just what his little brother was up to, frowned at his appearance. It was not the form he had taken in Valinor, but rather the form he had taken to come to these shores, merely younger.

"Ah, there you are," Sauron said archly. "I would hate for you to miss what I have planned for you."

"I broke you!" Saruman yelled, eyes bulging out. Sauron smirked.

"You tried," he said arrogantly, enjoying Saruman's incredulous disbelief, hoping he wouldn't have to pay for this later, but determined to end this before anyone else was hurt. "But it is rather difficult someone who is already broken." Saruman was slowly turning purple.

"You, you," he spluttered.

"Yes, me," Sauron replied. "Did you really think I would quit now? I already rescued Olórin from your clutches, removed the Three from your dominion forever, and drove you from Orthanc. So far, I think I'm doing a fairly good job." He smiled brightly at Saruman, who finally snapped. He lunged at Sauron, forgetting that he could simply use the Ring, rage blinding him to anything but the thought to hurt the insolent Maia before him.

Sauron gathered all the anger, pain, and love that was raging inside him, and thought himself away. Opening his eyes, he found himself in the Sammath Naur. Saruman would follow him, as would Olórin, and then they would all be right where they needed to be…

Sauron felt his breath whoosh out of him as he was suddenly slammed against the wall, his hands bound to it down at his sides by invisible shackles. The shield that had been so carefully constructed by Elrond and Galadriel shattered, and he moaned as he felt his Ring again being used to bring him under Saruman's control.

Saruman stepped forward from the shadows, and Sauron fought back a shudder at the gleam in his eyes: a gleam he had seen in Gothmog and Morgoth's eyes enough to know what it meant all too well.

"'It's rather difficult to break someone who is already broken,'" Saruman quoted softly, his voice not much more than a whisper. His uncontrollable rage was gone, leaving a cold, determined fury behind. He stepped forward, his eyes locked on Sauron's, who knew without a doubt he was in trouble.

"You know what?" Saruman continued, stepping even closer to his helpless prisoner, who decided it was extremely uncomfortable that Saruman was taller than he was.

"I think I will take that as a challenge," he whispered straight into Sauron's ear, now pinning him against the wall with his own body. He tangled the fingers of his right hand in Sauron's thick black hair, pulling his head back as he kissed him roughly.

Sauron tried to escape, but the Ring still held him firmly, as did Saruman himself. His fruitless struggles seemed to amuse Saruman, and pushing Sauron further back into the wall, he forced the younger Maia's mouth open and began tracing his free hand over the contours of Sauron's chest and stomach. Saruman gently teased up the bottom of the tunic Sauron was wearing, running his thumb over the exposed skin just above the top of his breeches.

Sauron had only been this terrified once before, the night Morgoth had blamed him for Beren and Lúthien's success, when the fallen Vala had torn him apart thought by thought.

The similarities between the two rose up to mock him. Again, he was held by a power stronger than his own, with no hope of escaping on his own. Both were free to do as they liked with him, and both were intent on seeing him abused, humiliated, and degraded. He was helpless…

And then Saruman was gone, stumbling backwards. Sauron collapsed, sliding down the wall to huddle at the base of it. Olórin took two steps forward, in his own form again, placing himself between Saruman and Sauron, angrier than either had ever seen him.

"Don't. You. _Dare_." he snarled at Saruman.

They began to fight, their unfettered power shaking all of Mount Doom. Sauron remained slumped against the wall, still trying to gather his equilibrium. Watching, it was almost like he saw it before it happened, or perhaps since the Ring was part of him, he understood its intent. It suddenly expanded rapidly, slipping from Saruman's finger. Sauron instantly understood: Olórin was stronger, and the Ring wanted him instead.

But Olórin paid it no mind, too intent on protecting his brother, the love he held protecting him from its insidious whispers. With a quick lunge, he forced Saruman out of the Sammath Naur, a move that rocked the entire mountain. Sauron was thrown away from the wall, landing on his stomach. He shook his head to clear it and glanced up, his gaze instantly caught by the Ring lying just before him.

It whispered to him, softly, seductively, poisoning his thoughts with as much skill as Morgoth ever had. He reached for it, despite himself, knowing it had betrayed him; yet he was still under its thrall.

Then Bayat's face rose to his mind, still in death as it had never been in life. She had died for him, and Námo and Eru alone knew how many others had done the same. How could he betray them? How could he betray Elrond, Galadriel, and the others, who had been willing to look beyond what he had done in the past and help him?

And then there was Olórin. Olórin, who would do anything he could for his little brother. How could Sauron hurt him again? The Valar may throw him into the Void on his arrival in Valinor, but he was going to do anything within his power to keep Olórin for mourning him once more.

The Ring, sensing his resistance, threw Saruman's words back at him: _there is part of you that_ wants _to be a slave. You are willing to be controlled by anyone strong enough to force you to their will. You_ know _that; you have_ always _known that._

Sauron drew himself up on his forearms, staring intently at the small golden thing, smooth and fair, and altogether precious: his creation, his love, his betrayer, his power, his enemy, his soul. "Slave I may be," he told it. "But yours no longer."

Then, mind and soul shattered–perhaps beyond repair–but finding in him the one last, desperate bit of resistance that had kept him from lying down in defeat so many times before, he flicked the Ring forwards, and sent it flying into the abyss. He felt it hit the Fire; felt its last, impotent wave of hatred sweep over him. He laughed, one incredulous crow of triumph, before he began to scream as it was finally destroyed, and Orodruin began to pull itself apart in torment.


	10. Healing

At Saruman's sudden stumble, the mountain and Barad-dûr's sudden rocking, and his little brother's sudden agonized screams, Olórin had a good guess of what had just happened. Seeing that Barad-dûr was about to fall, and having just witnessed the love and loyalty that lay between Sauron and those who had served him, he reached out to those inside the Dark Tower, pulling them all to safety, nearly disincarnating at the sudden pull of power it took.

He pulled his attention back to his immediate surroundings just as Saruman was beginning to recover. Cursing the delay, Olórin grabbed him, and thought them both to the West, almost right on top of Eönwë.

"What—?" the startled Herald began, but Olórin cut him off.

"Here!" he snapped, shoving Saruman at him, before thinking himself back to Mordor. Oh, Ilúvatar, let him not be too late…

When he returned, Orodruin was erupting violently, but more ominously to Olórin, there were no other sounds. He worked to try to enter the Sammath Naur, choking on the fumes, even Maia though he was.

"Mairon!" he finally screamed desperately. "Mairon!"

Then he saw him. Laying dangerously close to a river of lava, the younger Maia was completely limp…and on fire. Desperation lent Olórin strength, and with a quick bit of Song, dumped water over the whole surrounding area, putting the flames out, and sending up thick plumes of steam. But he knew where his brother was now, and quickly grabbed the younger Maia, and with the last of his strength he thought them both back to Minas Tirith, arriving in the courtyard where the White Tree once blossomed.

"Elrond!" Olórin screamed, bringing plenty of people running as he sank to the ground, exhausted. But he couldn't faint, he still had to care for Mairon…

"Hold on, Mairon," he whispered, his voice beginning to fade. "Please, just hold on…"

* * *

Elrond privately thought he had never seen a Maia look so desperate or bedraggled. Olórin was clearly exhausted, and covered in ash. But it was nothing to the badly burned creature in his arms, barely recognizable as Sauron. Elrond swore harshly under his breath, making Aragorn at his side to look at him in surprise, having never heard his foster-father use such language.

"Aragorn, I'm going to need your help," the Elf-lord said, just loud enough for the Man to hear him. "Glorfindel, take care of Olórin."

The Balrog-slayer nodded, as their run finally brought them next two the two figures. Elrond practically fell to his knees, skinning them as his momentum continued, reaching out to lay careful fingers on the less damaged side of Sauron's throat. They encountered thick scar tissue, and he swore again, switching to the Maia's left wrist, as the right was burned down into the deep muscle tissue. He found a faint pulse and sighed in relief. The younger Maia was not yet dead, as he had first feared. He quickly reached out with Vilya, seeking Sauron's air passages. Burned as well, they were the gravest threat, as they could stop the Maia's breathing completely.

With that concern eased, Elrond pulled himself back from his intense focus to try to get Sauron away from his older brother.

"Let me take him, Olórin," he said softly. Olórin barely responded, just the smallest shake of his head, as his desperate, exhausted eyes never left Sauron's face.

"Olórin!" Elrond ordered, calling his experience in leading armies into play. "Let me take him!" Glorfindel added his aid.

"Let Elrond take him, he can help," he said, gently pulling at Olórin's arms.

"I can't, I can't," the older Maia said desperately, his voice breaking on a sob. "I can't leave him!"

"Olórin, you are clearly exhausted," Elrond said sternly, but compassionately. "You cannot help him. Let me!" Finally, the Maia released his grip on his little brother, as Glorfindel gently tugged him back. Once Sauron was completely free from Olórin's grasp, the older Maia collapsed into sobs, and Glorfindel pulled him swiftly into his embrace.

Knowing Olórin would have as much help as anyone could give him, Elrond turned his attention back to Sauron, as Aragorn knelt at his side.

"I've ordered a litter, so we can take him to the Houses of Healing as soon as he is stable enough to move," the Man informed him. "They have much of the equipment we will need." Elrond gave a distracted nod.

"I was able to use Vilya to partially heal the damage to his airways," the Peredhel said. "That was the gravest danger. As long as we can keep him breathing and his heart beating, he should live: though there may be permanent damage." Aragorn nodded, then looked up as the litter he had ordered arrived, carried by running men. He stood up, and began issuing orders in a way that would have impressed Gil-galad himself. Elrond spared one moment of pride for the King it was obvious his foster son had become, before beginning to issue his own orders.

Quickly and carefully, Sauron was shifted onto the litter, and more slowly than they had brought it, but still as quickly as they dared, the carriers set off back towards the houses of healing. Elrond stayed at Sauron's side the whole time, using Vilya to make sure his fána did not begin to shut down.

But they got him into the Houses of Healing, and into one of the rooms that was kept as sterile as possible for those who had been burned without that occurring. Elrond spared himself one brief sigh of relief, as attendants came in to allow the Man and the Elf to cleanse themselves as was needed in this case. Then Elrond and Aragorn met in agreement across the damaged Maia's chest.

"Some of this will need to be debrided now," Elrond said. "But much of it will have to wait until he is stronger." Aragorn nodded, their eyes locking across the table like two warriors about to enter battle. And battle it was…

* * *

It was hours later when Elrond finally persuaded Aragorn to go to his rest, having done as much as Sauron could endure at the time. Elrond himself sat in a chair at the side of the bed they had moved Sauron to, hoping desperately that Sauron would not suddenly descend into a crisis. He did not know if he had enough strength, even with Vilya, to save him if that were to occur.

But it seemed as if at least for the moment, the Maia was stable, which left Elrond time to think. He wondered what had happened. For obviously, something had. Orodruin was erupting, and Sauron and Olórin had been right of the thick of it. Had Sauron succeeded with his plans, or had they failed, and Sauron's horrible state a result of it?

Elrond's musings were cut off when Glorfindel entered the room.

"I drugged Olórin," he admitted in answer to Elrond's questioning look. "And Elrohir is with him. But I got the story out of him before that, and I thought you might like to know it."

"I would indeed," Elrond replied.

"Well, for a start, they were successful. The Ring is destroyed, and as the last Olórin saw of it, it was alone with Sauron in the Sammath Naur…it would appear as if Sauron destroyed it himself."

"Did he, now?" Elrond murmured in amazement, an eyebrow raising as he looked at the Maia again. Glorfindel nodded.

"We won't know the full story of what happened there until he wakes, of course. Olórin was rather busy with Curumo."

"And what became of Saruman?" Elrond asked. That was the other pressing concern he had…

"Olórin took him to Valinor," Glorfindel answered. "That's part of the reason he's so exhausted. That, and apparently he saved everyone in Barad-dûr when the tower started to fall. Then pulled Sauron out of the Sammath Naur and brought him here." Elrond shook his head in amazement, not disbelief.

"It seems to be quite a tale," he said. "But I fear telling it in full will have to wait, or I will not properly understand it. I am exhausted, Glorfindel, more so than I have been…since I tried to heal Celebrían." Glorfindel looked at him with concern.

"Then you need to rest," he declared. "I will go relieve Elrohir, and he can take your place."

"If Sauron's fána begins to fail, Elrohir will not be able to—" Elrond began to protest. Glorfindel stopped him with a look.

"If Sauron is not strong enough to endure this damage on his own, you will not be able to do anything either, not with how exhausted you are! All the better to sleep now, then, while he is stable, so you can handle any future potential crises." Elrond saw the logic in this, and when Elrohir arrived, went to his own rest.

When he awoke, he found that someone had laid out clean clothing and some food that would keep well, so he could eat whenever he awoke. Once he had changed and eaten, he returned to Sauron's room. There he found, instead of his son, that Olórin had taken the post by his little brother's bed. The older Maia looked much better, though still worried. He looked up with a half-smile when Elrond entered.

"I sent Elrohir to his own rest about a half-mark ago," he said quietly. "He said Mairon passed the night quietly, though he did say there were complications in his breathing he wished you to look into when you came."

With a sigh, Elrond complied, reaching out with Vilya. There was still significant damage to Sauron's throat and lungs, and he did what he could to heal it. But there was so much damage that Vilya's strength was sucked off to a multitude of different places, as well as a large part seeming to simply disappear.

"He's still breathing, and that is reason to hope," Elrond murmured as he ended the flow of power and brought himself back to his surroundings. "As long as he continues to breath and his heart continues to beat, he should heal."

"Completely?" Olórin asked quietly. Elrond hesitated for a moment.

"No," he finally said softly. "I do not think even the combined strength of the Three would be enough to do that. But you are planning to take him West, are you not?" Olórin sighed.

"Yes, I am, though he will not be happy with that decision," the Maia admitted. "But I do not fear the Valar as he does, and do not believe after all he has done to help Middle-earth that they would sentence him to the Void. And they are the only ones that can help him…"

"Then they should be able to repair the damage I cannot," Elrond replied. "If I could get Vilya's power to stay where I put it, it would be far simpler, and I could probably do a far better job. But there is so much damage that it is simply pulled elsewhere—and a large part of it seems to simply disappear. I do not understand it." Olórin ran his hand over his face.

"Core damage," he said quietly. Elrond gave him an inquiring look.

"Mairon's core—the center of his fëa—is badly damaged, due to the destruction of the Ring, as well as what Saruman did to him. Even one of the Aratar can pour all the strength they can into a Maia with core damage without noticeable results. It is simply not something that can be healed by strength alone," Olórin explained. "Though there are things that help it heal—rest is one, as well as feeling safe and loved. Námo and Irmo became skilled at dealing with it—while Estë focused on how to work around it without the core pulling all of the strength she puts into healing to itself."

Elrond nodded, fascinated by these glimpses of stories that had been woven long before the Elves first awoke. He had often wondered about the Maiar and their stories. It was only natural, he supposed, as one of his foremothers had been one. He wondered if when he sailed, if he would be able to meet Melian…

"Well then, if we can get him strong enough to make the journey, we can count on him being healed," Elrond said, pulling himself back to the task at hand. "But that will take time, I fear. We will do what we can, but much of this fight rests on him, I fear."

Olórin nodded in weary acceptance, as he settled down to keep watch over his little brother until he awoke…however long that should be.

* * *

As it turned out, it was on what had been Bilbo and Frodo's birthday that Sauron reopened his eye. Only the left—his right had been more badly burned, and remained closed. But that brief flicker of gold reassured the healers still working on the Maia. Elrond had taught Olórin and Galadriel what he knew about using the Rings to heal, and all three would use what strength they could to aid in his healing.

But even with all that, Sauron's progress remained agonizingly slow. It wasn't until Midwinter that Elrond felt secure enough in his recovery to return to the North. When he returned with Arwen and his household, arriving in time for Aragorn's birthday on March first, Sauron was able to sit up, but it had become obvious just how limited his healing would be without the aid of the Powers. His right thigh was the worst, and it was clear he would not be able to walk unaided.

But it was his hand that seemed to pain him the most. Sauron often sat for hours, hunched in on himself, his left hand curled around his right, both pulled to his chest. Elrond could understand, having seen Sauron at his happiest in a forge. But seeing him like this, it drew his mind back half a century, to when it was his wife who had sat in just such a pose, her pain so obviously written in her face and form.

"It is time to sail," Elrond said quietly to Galadriel, as she stood, watching Sauron with pity on her face, as she stood where he couldn't see her.

"Yes," she said simply. "The Rings…" she paused, and looked at Nenya.

"The lessons of the past should be enough to know they cannot stay here," she finally finished quietly. "It is time for the Dominion of Men, and I am ready to go…to go home." Elrond looked on her with compassion.

"As well, whatever Olórin says, Sauron will face trial in the West," Galadriel said in a stronger tone. "I would not have him do so alone."

"Nor would I," Elrond admitted with a half-smile. "Despite what he has done in his past…If he can be redeemed and reclaimed, I would see it so."

"And I find myself in agreement," Galadriel said. She gave a mischievous smile that suddenly made her look very young. "I suppose that means I have finally grown wise." Elrond choked trying to hold back a laugh.

"I would have always called you wise," Elrond said diplomatically.

"Flatterer," Galadriel accused him. "But then, I always knew you were intelligent. That is why I let you marry my daughter."

"Celebrían," Elrond breathed. "Oh, Galadriel, I have no idea how to tell her…" Galadriel placed her hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"She knew it was a possibility, and chose you anyway," she said gently but firmly. "I, too, had a hand in bringing Aragorn and Arwen together. You made the right choice."

"I hope she sees it that way as well," Elrond murmured.

"She will," Galadriel assured him.

* * *

Aragorn and Arwen wedded on the first day of May, and the whole city celebrated. Sauron was able to attend, seated in a secluded corner at his own request, Olórin by his side. He didn't stay long after the ceremony itself, but he smiled truly at the newlyweds' happiness—the first smile he had given since the destruction of the Ring.

The whole company stayed in the White City until Midsummer. Then the Elves took their leave, returning to the North and their homes. Olórin and Sauron travelled with them: the first steps on their journey to the West.


	11. Judgement in Valinor

Rarely did all the Valar meet in the Máhanaxar in the later Ages of Arda. However, as the Third Age gave way to the Fourth, they gathered, intent on untangling the confused mess that had ended the Third Age, and passing judgement on those involved.

The bearers of the Three were present, as well as the Maia they had sent to aid those in Middle-earth and had instead tried to rule all, and the one who had fallen long ago, but had proved instrumental in seeing the forces of Light triumph. Saruman was currently being held apart from the rest, as the Valar decided to get the story from the others before hearing his version of events.

Galadriel looked serene to one who didn't know her, but on closer inspection one could see the anxiousness and anticipation she held under control. Elrond and Olórin's attention was focused on the dark figure they held supported between them. Sauron was clad all in black, concealing all but his face. His hair was cropped to his shoulders, and the right side of his face was scarred. It was impossible to see if his eye was also damaged, as he kept his gaze firmly on the ground.

Olórin spoke first, telling the long, confusing tale. It took some time, but finally he finished with the journey to Valinor. Elrond and Galadriel spoke next, adding their own insights and observations. When they were finished they left, anxious to see their families, though they did request to be informed when decisions were reached as to Saruman and Sauron's fates.

Then Olórin, at Manwë's bidding, helped Sauron kneel, which he did awkwardly due to the damage done to his right leg, and prepared to leave. Before he could do so, Manwë rose from his throne and caught him in an embrace.

"Lay aside your guilt and self-blame, my child," he whispered gently. "You have done all that was expected of you, and I am very proud of you." Sauron looked away. He was not jealous, and was glad that his brother was receiving the love and healing he needed, but the sight triggered the dull ache he'd lived with since first coming to Eä.

Olórin left, and the Valar asked Sauron to tell the tale again, through his eyes this time. He did so, speaking simply and concisely, his gaze fixed on his knees. He ended with the destruction of the Ring and Orodruin's eruption. There was a thoughtful silence before Námo broke it.

"Can you come here, child?" he asked softly. Sauron shook his head.

"I cannot rise unaided," he said in a low voice. Námo rose and came forward, supporting the Maia as he tried to gain his feet. Halfway his leg gave way, and he collapsed, leaving his entire weight supported by Námo. However, his slight frame was no difficulty for the Vala, and Námo easily pulled him completely upright. Then, stooping slightly, he placed an arm behind Sauron's knees, pulling him into his arms before walking back to his throne.

Once there, Námo removed the Maia's boots, then followed with the rest of his clothing, until he was clad only in small clothes, revealing the damage Orodruin had done to his form, as well as the older scars. The entire right side of his body was freshly scarred, with enough damage to his arm and leg that their functionality was greatly reduced, especially his leg.

Estë rose from where she sat and came over to the small Maia, tipping his head back to get a better look at the scars on his face. His eye had been damaged, visible now as he was forced to raise his face for the first time.

"Close your eyes, child," Estë murmured. Sauron complied, and she gently rested the fingertips of her left hand on his closed lid. When she let go, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times, focusing. Estë quickly ran him through a few simple tests to ensure his vision had returned to normal.

"Do you want me to heal the rest of this?" she asked, indicating the rest of the scars. Sauron hesitated.

"Those on my face and hand, yes," he said. "And I'd like to be able to use my limbs again. Other than that…I'd like to keep it."

"Why is that?" Námo asked him.

"It's the only scar I have from doing something right," Sauron replied quietly. "All the rest are from when I messed up." Estë seemed surprised, but did as he asked, starting with his face. She quickly healed all the damage there, restoring his hairline to normal, which apparently itched when the new hair sprouted. Rather than leave the short fluff, Estë grew it out to match the rest, which was just below shoulder length.

She then continued down the rest of his body, healing the damage done to the muscles and nerves, but leaving the surface level scars, except for those on his hand. She spent quite a bit time making sure his hand still had the dexterity it would have had before, realizing how much he used his hands.

When Estë was done, Námo helped Sauron back into the leggings he had been wearing beneath the full length robe, then simply wrapped him in a blanket which Vairë handed to him.

"We need to hear Curumo's version of events now," Námo told him. "However, as you and he were the sole witnesses of many of the key events, if you will assent to it, we would have you remain, to ensure he cannot twist his story too much." Sauron bit his lip, fear creeping into his gaze. The last time he had seen Saruman was still vivid in his mind.

"You will be hidden from his view," Námo reassured the Maia he held. "He will not see you or hear you, and will not know you are here. Nor will we allow him to harm you." Slowly, Sauron nodded.

"I will stay," he said quietly. Námo nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, focusing, though nothing changed to Sauron's eyes.

"Almaron," Námo called the name of one of his Maiar, and the brawny Maia appeared, escorting the form of Saruman. Saruman looked nothing like the Maia who had caused so much trouble and consternation in Middle-earth, with his robes torn and dirty, and his hair disheveled. But Sauron could not help his first reaction upon seeing the other Maia, and violently shied back into Námo, who tightened his grip.

"It's alright, little one," Námo murmured to the now slightly shaking Maia as he nodded in dismissal to Almaron. "You are safe." Sauron took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling his emotions back under control with Ages of practice.

Saruman was sullen at first, when the Valar began to question him. He seemed to feel himself very ill used. But when the questions touched on what he had done to Sauron, his attitude changed to one of mocking contemptuousness.

"He deserved everything I did to him," Saruman said. "I went to Middle-earth to see him humbled and overthrown, and that's just what I did. If Olórin hadn't been sent along, everything would have been perfect. Olórin was far too sympathetic towards Sauron, but what else could one expect from the brother of that miserable brat? He protected him up to the very end, the traitor. He even protected him when I was about to finally win, destroy any resistance Sauron would have ever offered." Manwë looked at him sternly.

"Are you referring to when Olórin stopped you from physically raping his little brother?" he asked, in a caustic tone unusual for the Elder King. Saruman looked sulky.

"All I did was kiss him," he groused. Sauron made a noise of disbelief akin to a snort.

"Is he lying?" Námo asked him calmly.

"Oh, it was only a kiss, but considering that by the time Olórin got there I was pinned to a wall, he had forced my mouth open, and was running his hands all over me…" Sauron broke off, shuddering. "I've never been more relieved to see someone than I was when Olórin came," he whispered.

"Besides, that's hardly the worst thing he's been subjected to," Saruman regained his boldness, and proceeded to lay out what Sauron had suffered under Morgoth and later in painful detail. Sauron buried his head in Námo's chest as he was forced to listen to the past he could not bring himself to talk about being paraded around by the Maia who had treated him as Morgoth had. Námo tightened his arms protectively around the small Maia he held, and the expressions of the Valar grew more and more set as they let Saruman talk.

"He is so easy to manipulate," Saruman bragged. "He's been conditioned not to fight back against someone more powerful than him, no matter what they do to him, and once I had broken his defenses, it was all too easy to do anything I wanted with him. He's been treated so poorly he has almost no self-worth left. Broken, helpless…it was all too delightful to watch that controlled façade he wears fall away to the vulnerable little creature he really is. He created that Ring in an attempt to keep from being hurt again…and that's exactly what I used it for." He smiled, predatory and cruel.

Sauron raised his head, as fear and disgust spilled over into anger and hatred. Those were two emotions he was well acquainted with, and he pushed himself up, throwing off the blanket and sliding off Námo's lap. He stalked towards Saruman, who turned in surprise to find the other Maia there.

"Why do you hate me?" Sauron demanded. Saruman's face twisted.

"You're a traitor! You deserved–"

"You hated me before you knew that. Why?" Sauron cut him off.

"You were always so powerful, always had everyone adoring you–" Saruman began bitterly. Sauron cut him off again.

"Adoring me? I had a grand total of four friends, Curumo, one of whom was my brother! You were the one who had everything: friends, family, the esteem of our lord… You had everything I ever wanted. As for power?" he shook his head, laughing bitterly. "All that got me was Melkor's attention. You know my life Curumo, nearly as well as I do after what you have done to me. Do you really want it?!" Saruman said nothing, face suddenly uncertain.

"No, you don't," Sauron continued. "Because no sane being does!" Saruman's confusion shifted back to anger, and with a snarled oath, he grabbed Sauron. But Sauron was no longer helpless, and with quick precision, he slammed his fist into the other Maia's solar plexus, leaving him gasping for air.

"And I am no longer your slave," the younger Maia snarled, as he turned and walked back to Námo's side, his expression morphing into one of sullen exhaustion. Námo simply pulled him back into his embrace, and Sauron tiredly closed his eyes and rested his head on the Vala's chest, fight apparently gone out of him.

"You have chosen your path, Curumo, and thus it seems we must see you sentenced to the Void," Manwë began dispassionately.

"My Lord Manwë," Sauron interrupted, "Though it is not my place to decide this, I would not see him thrown to the Void."

"You would show him mercy?" Manwë asked in surprise.

"No," Sauron replied. "But I find that I cannot subject another to what I have been subjected to." He eyed Curumo. "Perhaps you would feel the same if you were in my place…or perhaps not. I don't know. I don't care." He turned his attention back to Manwë. "Besides, Morgoth does not need another sadistic Maia under his command. Those he has are more than sufficient."

"I don't want your pity," Curumo spat. "You little traitor! I don't want your pity. I should have broken your mind, until you couldn't even think of plotting against me: my perfect little slave, obedient to me in everything, anything I asked–"

"Almaron," Námo said, and that Maia appeared, bowing to his lord. "Take this one back to his cell. None here wish to listen to him any longer."

"Of course, my lord," Almaron replied, and wrapping a large hand around the back of Curumo's neck, thought them both back to Mandos.

"I see no harm in leaving him there for an Age or two," Námo said. "Then if we want we can pull him back here to see if he's re-thought his attitude at all." Manwë sighed.

"We shall do that then, granting him the mercy you asked for," he said, addressing the last part to Sauron, who shrugged.

"His sentence is indeed merciful, but it would not be accurate to ascribe it to me," he said. "I'm still very convinced throwing him and Gothmog together in a small space for the rest of eternity would be an excellent fate for them both."

"Perhaps," Námo said in reply, running his hand through the Maia's short hair. "But enough of him. It is time to determine your fate, little one."

"I only ask that I be given time to say goodbye to Olórin," Sauron said with a soft sigh in his voice, his mood shifting back to the resigned hopelessness he'd first displayed.

"Are you so certain we will throw you to the Void?" Námo asked.

"Is it not what I deserve?" Sauron returned. "After what have I done?"

"What have you done?" Námo replied.

"I have betrayed everything I was supposed to be, and have rebelled against my creator," Sauron said incredibly softly. Námo gently took the Maia's face in his hands, forcing Sauron to meet his eyes.

"Yes, that you have done," he answered. "But you did not start the Rebellion, and a second chance was offered even to those who had. Why should you be different?"

"Because I was already offered that chance, and I rejected it," Sauron replied. "At then end of the War of Wrath, I was commanded to return…and I did not. Was not that my second chance?"

"If you had returned, it would have been," Námo said. "Tell me, child, why did you not return?"

"I was scared," Sauron admitted, closing his eyes. "I was afraid that I would be hurt further, so I ran…"

"A reasonable reaction, considering what you had already suffered at that point," Námo said. "It would have been better had you returned then, but you did not. What did you do?"

"I tried to be good," Sauron said in a broken voice. He would have ducked his head if Námo had allowed him to. "But I failed. And then I enslaved myself to my own creation, and have existed thus for an Age and a half."

"An enslavement you managed to free yourself from," Námo reminded him.

"Yes, but not before I did unforgivable things…I am evil," Sauron cried, a sob breaking in his voice on the last word.

"Tell me, child, does evil love?" Námo asked quietly.

"No," Sauron answered instantly, though he seemed confused by the sudden subject change. Námo gently ran his thumbs over the Maia's cheeks.

"Yet everything you have done in this war was out of love for your brother. So then, how can you be evil?" Sauron was silent for a long moment.

"But if I'm not evil…what am I?" he asked softly and sincerely.

"A stubborn, fragile, and scarred young Maia, who has make mistakes, yes, even done great evil…but has also great good. And one who is not yet beyond salvation." Sauron closed his eyes, bitting his lip, and to his surprise, a tear ran down his face. He hadn't been able to cry in so long…

"He told me I was," he whispered.

"Who did?" Námo asked gently.

"Morgoth," Sauron answered. "At the end of the War of Wrath, he asked me if I was going to try to go back…He said–'Remember, little wolf, there is no salvation for you.'"

"And who was he to declare your fate?" Námo asked, softly, but there was steel in his voice the Maia could not ignore. "Do you want him to have that power?" Sauron shook his head as much as he could, mouthing 'no'.

"Then don't let him," Námo said, releasing the Maia's face to pull him again into his embrace. "Your destiny is your own choice."

"But will I get that chance?" Sauron whispered softly. There was no answer, and he knew the Valar were debating his fate. He lay still and quiet in Námo's arms, knowing this might be one of the last times he would be treated gently. He thought of Olórin, and his brother's words on hope. Could he hope? Would everything turn out the way it should be?

 _Atar…_ his heart whispered softly, emotionally exhausted. He wished he could remember a time when he didn't know what fear and sorrow were. Perhaps then, he would be able to trust in his Creator's love. But perhaps…perhaps it was the not knowing that made it truly Estel. If he hoped, and it was proven false, it would destroy him. But if that hope were groundless, he would be destroyed anyway. So for the first time since he had first let his fear of Melkor become stronger than his trust in Ilúvatar, Mairon let himself hope.

 _Atar…I'm sorry…please…please save me._

Námo nodded to Manwë. "You will get your chance, Mairon," he said softly. Mairon exhaled shakily, turning his head to bury it in Námo's chest, feeling the Vala gently stroke his hair. "There are some things you may not like," Námo warned gently. "You will be bound; you will wear a collar. Partially it will be to bind your natural powers, but more than that, it will also protect you. Your mind is extremely fragile at the moment, and I would not see you injured through accident or carelessness. The collar will shield your mind as you naturally would." Námo paused for a moment.

"It has been decided you will come with me, until I deem you recovered enough to take up normal service. Then you will be able to decide whom you wish to serve, as any other Maia would. The collar will then be removed when your lord or lady deems it fit." He tilted Mairon's head up to look into his eyes. "Is that acceptable to you?" he asked gently. Mairon nodded. It was more than he'd ever hoped to receive.

Aulë reappeared, and Mairon only belatedly realized that he'd been gone. He held in his hands a small band of gold, set with tiny black onyx and rubies. It was small enough to be mistaken for a necklace, and small, reluctant smile graced Mairon's face as he realized it was even in his colors. Námo lifted Mairon's hair out of the way, and a small shiver shook the Maia as he felt his former lord's hands around his neck, carefully and gently fitting the collar. Mairon licked his lips as he read the energy radiating from the collar, realizing it was actually gold-wrapped _tilkal_.

"There," Aulë said in satisfaction as he finished. "The shields within it are dependent on your emotional state," he explained to the Maia. "They will keep out any random or stray thoughts from others, but they can be bypassed if you remain calm. Fear or panic will raise them, and should even be able to keep out a Vala, if you need them to." He gently ran his hand over Mairon's head, neck, and back before returning to his throne.

"Is there anything else he needs to know?" Námo addressed Manwë, who shook his head. "Then let's get you home, little one," Námo murmured to Mairon.

Home, Mairon thought, a small smile beginning to spread on his face, hands slowly beginning to twine into Námo's robes. That sounded nice. He was going home… And tomorrow he would still be there. Tomorrow he could see Olórin, and tell him he had been right… He closed his eyes with a soft sigh, utterly exhausted, but feeling safe and content.

* * *

 **So this is the end of the story proper, but I'll be posting six more chapters: two of outtakes, and four of extras. They're all rather short, so I'll be posting both outtakes tomorrow, and the extras the next day. I hope you enjoy them. :)**


	12. Outtakes: Frodo's Fate

**These are scenes I originally wrote for the first chapter, but Crackers (rightly) pointed out that they story didn't follow these characters, so they really didn't belong in the** **chapter. But just in case you were wondering what happened to Frodo...**

* * *

Frodo Baggins sat on the front stoop of Bag End, enjoying an after supper pipe, and idly fingering a golden ring in his pocket. What Gandalf had told him about it was incredible. It was odd to think that the little golden trinket Bilbo had left to him was the most powerful weapon in Middle-earth. He still hadn't quite wrapped his head around the fact he carried the fate of the world in his pocket…

Suddenly, his attention was caught by an old man, hooded and cloaked: was it Gandalf? If so, he was early. Frodo was not expecting his old friend until September. He stood to greet the Wizard, when he suddenly realized that this was not Gandalf, but another, a stranger who watched him with an indescribably gleam in his eyes.

A blade flashed quickly, and the Hobbit fell, blue eyes unseeing. A pale hand groped into the small pocket, uncovering the prize he sought. The Wizard carefully set the Ring, gleaming in the pale light of the stars, upon the first finger of his left hand. He could suddenly feel all the Rings, and the bearers the the Three were quickly aware of him. As had happened when the One had first been formed, they removed their Rings, leaving the connection tenuous, and hard to trace. It would take him time to enslave them.

But none of that mattered now. Saruman raised his left hand to eye level in triumph. There was nothing in Middle-earth to stop him now that he had his prize.

He had won.

* * *

"My lady?" Háma said hesitantly, as Éowyn paused, a sick look on her face as she looked back to the flames of Edoras: the pyre of all that remained of her kin.

"My lady?" Háma tried again, as the White Lady did not move. "We must leave, or Saruman's armies will find us. You are the last of the house of Eorl… we do not wish to loose you as well," he finished in a whisper. That broke Éowyn's despair, and she finally turned towards him.

"Gondor," she said. "We will ride to Gondor. They are our allies; we will find shelter there." She turned again to view of Edoras.

"And someday we will come back, and reclaim our home," she vowed in a whisper.

* * *

Faramir closed his eyes against the sight of flames.

"My lord?" Beregond questioned quietly.

"My father is dead," Faramir said, almost emotionlessly. "My brother is missing: and as his intended travel route led him past Orthanc, he is most likely dead as well." A deep breath helped him hold back the tears that threatened. Now was not the time to grieve, as an unexpected weight settled on his shoulders.

"I am now Steward of Gondor."


	13. Outtakes: The Almost Chapter Three

**This...was almost chapter three. I wanted to bridge the week-long gap between the current chapter two and chapter three, but when I had written then, I found it too short, rather** **filler-ish, and resistant to change on those two counts.**

* * *

"What can we do?" Gandalf asked Elrond, his voice sharp in his worry.

"I don't know," Elrond said softly. Sauron's eyes were open, but he clearly saw nothing in front of him, and was trembling in short, jerky movements.

"I don't know quite what is going on, and I don't dare touch his fëa. As damaged as he is, without support I'd simply be dragged in, and never find my way back out," Elrond explained. "I almost lost myself when I tried to call Estel back, and he's not nearly as wounded."

"Then what do we do?" Gandalf asked again. Elrond shrugged.

"Try to keep him comfortable, and hope that he has the strength to make it through," the Peredhel said softly.

"Elrond…Saruman has already hurt him badly. Earlier…earlier he was already at the point of defeat, and you know history as well as I do, so you know how difficult that is! But truly…truly, how much hope is there?" Gandalf asked, shaking his head.

"More than if we abandon it all now!" Elrond said firmly. A soft cry from his patient drew his attention, and he laid a hand on his brow.

"He is burning up," Elrond said. "How warm is he suppose to be?" Gandalf laid his own hand across Sauron's brow.

"Not that hot," he muttered.

"Then let's try to cool him down. It seems whatever is going on is manifesting itself in fever: which could explain the delirium as well," Elrond said.

"It has to be Saruman's doing," Gandalf said again. "Mairon looked south before he collapsed, and muttered 'what is he doing?' The only 'he' Mairon could sense at a distance would be Saruman, if he is using the Ring."

"I do not doubt you are right," Elrond said softly. "But if that is the case, I am afraid we really have no choice than to wait for Curunír to stop whatever he is doing."

"And if he does not?" Gandalf asked quietly. "Then I do not know," Elrond said, slightly exasperated. "It is not as if I have experience in treating a Maia who is being injured by another Maia who holds part of his soul on his finger, after all!"

"I am sorry, Elrond," Gandalf said, running a hand over his face. "I know you do not have any answers."

"You are simply worried," Elrond said soothingly, laying a hand on Gandalf's shoulder. "It is understandable. I wish I did have answers for you."

"You said we need to try to lower his temperature?" Gandalf said wearily. Elrond nodded.

"We'll try sponge baths first, as this may last for a while. And since it is not a natural fever, it's probably not going to break, so unless it spikes, it's more a matter of keeping him comfortable." Gandalf nodded in understanding, and Elrond slipped out for a second to give orders to a passing Elf. He finished just to hear a string of what must have been curses in a language that could only be Valarin. Hurriedly slipping back inside to see what was causing Gandalf to swear like that, he found that the Wizard had removed the tunic Sauron was wearing, revealing horrific scars that covered the younger Maia.

"Thought you tol me no'to swear like tha', Olórin," Sauron slurred, his voice weak. Apparently he'd been roused by the unexpected Valarin—or maybe just the content.

"That I did," Gandalf answered. "And you're still not allowed to."

"Too late," Sauron whispered with an almost smile.

"Are you with us, Mairon?" Gandalf asked in a light voice to hide his worry.

"Yes?" Sauron replied. "Wha- Olórin, look out! Don't let, don' let…let…" And with a few more incoherent mumbles, he returned to his former state. Gandalf sighed.

"I guess that's actually a no," he said softly.

"Still, it is a good sign that he was aware at least for a short time," Elrond said, as the door opened again, and Elrohir briefly stepped in to give his father the supplies the Elf-lord had requested. Elrond took them from his son and returned to the bedside, sighing as he took in the scars that covered almost all of Sauron's exposed skin.

"That's not recent," he commented quietly. Gandalf shook his head.

"No, the only thing that could have caused those scars would be a fire whip," Gandalf said, fury in his voice. "So it was either Morgoth himself, or one of the Balrogs—and if it was a Balrog, it was on Morgoth's orders. Mairon is far stronger than those who became the Valaraukar." Elrond didn't quite know what to say to that, so he simply began to sponge down the delirious Maia, hoping to help lower his temperature. Gandalf joined him.

As the day wore on, it became obvious that Sauron had some small control over what was going on. He continued to cry out occasionally, in the throes of strange, waking nightmares, but he did so in Valarin, even when Gandalf could tell from what he was saying that he had probably not been speaking that language in the memories he relived. It seemed that he didn't want any of the Elves to understand him—and as Gandalf listened to the chaotic memory fragments and nightmares that Sauron spoke of, he understood why.

At the end of the second day, Elrond tried to convince Gandalf to leave Sauron's room and go rest: but the Wizard ended up convincing the Elf-lord to do so instead. When Elrond came back, rested and ready to force Gandalf to do so as well, Gandalf displayed that his own stubbornness nearly rivaled that of his little brother's. He did agree to rest in an armchair, and—at least when Sauron was quiet—to doze in small intervals.

On the fourth day, Elrond finally convinced Gandalf to go across the hall to his own rooms to rest. That only lasted for a few hours, however, since Sauron's cries increased with his brother's absence, and Elrond was unable to soothe the still delirious Maia. Once Gandalf slept off the extreme edge of his exhaustion, he became aware of Sauron's cries, and returned to his brother's side. Once there, Sauron quieted again, and nothing could move Gandalf after that. He remained at Sauron's side for the rest of the week, until finally, the unnatural fever broke.

"He stopped," Sauron whispered weakly, before sinking into an exhausted, natural sleep, that had both Elrond and Gandalf sighing in relief, before seeking their own rest.

* * *

 **Up tomorrow will be the Extras: they are all short, first person POVs of various points in the story.**


	14. Extra: Olórin

Miracle upon miracle, he is safely in my arms, fast asleep. I had never thought to hold my little brother this way again, and still can barely believe this is real, and not a dream. I'm ashamed to admit I had given up on him. Yes, I know what he has done. And it matters, I will not deny it. But he is still my little brother.

He is terrified, I know, hiding it behind a fatalistic demeanor. He knows he will not be able to run again: this will either end with him being Saruman's thrall, or facing the judgement of the Valar. I have hope in the last one; he does not. He fears they will simply hand him back to his old master and again be twisted and broken until he is nothing more than a weapon designed for the Dagor Dagorath.

I cannot help hoping, for–impossibly–he has found his way back to me. I will not willingly let him go. Oh, my Lord Manwë, if I have earned any reward for my long and faithful service, let it be this: let me save my brother.


	15. Extra: Galadriel

The Maia I have hated for so long collapses before me, and for a moment, I move not. Olórin and my son-in-law move instantly, using the Rings he has just freed to help him. And yet, I _cannot_ move.

To help the one who murdered my brother…all the other atrocities this Maia has committed over the Ages race through my mind in a flash. No, I cannot help him. I cannot add Nenya's strength to that of Vilya and Narya.

But…If there is something I have learned over the long years of my life, it is that hatred unabated can destroy. Sauron has just freed Nenya, and by extension, me, from the threat of domination by the One. And now, he suffers from the same fate he just spared me. How can I be less generous than he and still face myself each day?

And I move.


	16. Extra: Sauron

As I study the bindings on my older brother's mind and soul, the similarities and differences between his and mine are almost painful. For one thing, the feel of the power that had laid them was incredibly similar: Melkor and Manwë were more alike than most of the non-Ainur recognized.

But it was also incredibly obvious that Manwë had laid these bonds with perfect skill and utter gentleness, twisting Olórin's fëa not in the slightest. Also evident was Olórin's trust of his lord: there was not a bit of fear trapped in them.

All of this stood a deep contrast to the dark, twisted bonds that lay over my own fëa. Morgoth had laid those in his hatred and brutality, and in my own terror and agony. They were designed never to be lifted, to corrupt me forever into a creature that would follow in his footsteps. That, at least, I could see clearly now.

Worse still, of course, was the damage he had wrought in my core, as he had pushed deeper, damaging my very identity as he had violated me completely. Those wounds had never healed, and had broken open again when Curumo had sought to emulate his new-taken lord—though he might not yet recognize he has fallen to Melkor just as much as I once did.

But this pain, though almost unbearable, was at least familiar. I had survived this once: and I would do so again. And whatever I couldn't do, Olórin would. And so, with that thought, I carefully undid the one section of Manwë's bindings that would allow the whole thing to slide of like it was nothing, and regained my brother in full. 


	17. Extra: Námo

He wakes slowly, laboriously. He has been sleeping deeply, seeking to heal after his trauma of the day before. I had kept him with me, tucked between Vairë and myself like a child. I was hoping to prevent nightmares, or a least be able to sooth him quickly if they came. He would not wish to be alone, not now, not with the terror and pain of his past still so close. And if I were to be honest, I wanted him close on my own account as well. It would be long before I forgot this child's trembling fear as he saw again the one who had tormented him so badly.

But the night had passed easily, Mairon lying utterly still, deeply asleep. Now he wakes, and I gently stroke his face to bring him back. His eyes open and meet mine, and for a moment, the only emotion in them is confusion. Then the memories connect, and emotions too numerous to name flash through his golden eyes. But it ends on a dawning light, as hope begins to flare, a bright, powerful light that does not dim. It is beautiful to behold, and suddenly I know that though it may ebb at times, what has just been kindled will never truly go out.

* * *

 **Well, this is truly the end. A big thank you to all my reviewers, and to all who read and enjoyed!**


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